Professor Burbage and the Potions Master
by Lion in the Land
Summary: This is the untold story of Charity Burbage, the young, vibrant Muggle Studies professor, and her unlikely relationship with the ill-tempered Severus Snape. Written because I couldn't stand for Snape's mortal life to end without something happy in it.
1. Muggle Studies

Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: This story borrows several characters, situations and settings from the Harry Potter series of books by J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1

Muggle Studies

Charity Burbage first came to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Harry Potter's fourth year, the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Her own schooling had been at a small, private, all-witch school, Wiltshire Preppy. Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster, had summoned her by Owl-Post that summer, requesting her to interview for the position of Muggle Studies Professor, a post now open due to the retirement of the previous instructor. The owl was most welcomed by Charity. Until now she really had no idea how she was going to apply her great knowledge of Muggles - otherwise known as non-magical people. (_Did I mention that Charity and all her family and most of her acquaintances were witches and wizards? Well, she was and they were_.)

Her mother assumed that Charity had somewhere along the way fallen in love with a devastatingly handsome Muggle man and was doing all this research to try and speak the same language, so to say. Her father merely said that his little Charity was going to succeed at whatever she put her mind to, regardless of whether or not he had any idea where her mind was at the moment. Charity couldn't explain any better herself why she spent so much time and effort accumulating knowledge of Muggles. They just fascinated her; she didn't know why – until Albus Dumbledore made it all very clear to her.

Although she had been in the same very large room with him at a benefit for homeless hags about a year earlier, Charity had never actually met Albus Dumbledore until the day of her interview. There she sat in his regal office. It was a very well appointed room full of all sorts of mysterious objects. A giant bird, perhaps a phoenix, Charity thought, sat majestically on a perch behind Dumbledore's desk while faces of old men and women looked down on her with interest and skepticism from their portraits which lined the walls. She tried to focus all of her attention on the venerated headmaster before her, but she couldn't help but catch a few of the portraits' pompous rumblings:

"…interviewing to be a student or a teacher?…"

"…tired of looking at old McGonagall, heh, heh…"

"…Preppy never had the same high standards as Hogwarts…"

Dumbledore sat with his fingertips pressed together and appeared to contemplate Charity over the rim of his spectacles. His long silver hair and beard reflected the firelight from the torches that lit the circular room. Charity hoped he wasn't giving the portraits any mind. She just then remembered the box on her lap. She had heard of the headmaster's propensity for Muggle sweets and had brought him a box of Ju-Ju Bees.

"Oh, Professor," she suddenly blurted out to alleviate the pressure. "These are for you," she said and handed him the box. He appeared delighted and opened the box immediately and began chewing. He held the box out to her, but she declined, thinking that a gummy red Ju-Ju Bee stuck in her teeth might not make the best impression. It didn't look bad on him though.

"So, Miss Burbage, I've read some of your research papers in _Magical Minds Weekly_ and _Muggle Machines_. Fine publications," Dumbledore began. Charity took extra pride in this comment, as her father worked for the publishing company that put out those two magazines. "I particularly enjoyed your pieces titled 'Muggles in Majorca' and 'Duct Tape – Who says Muggles Can't Work Magic!' It appears to me that you have quite a soft spot for non-magical folk," he said.

"Why, yes, I think they are fascinating, and we wizards and witches could learn quite a bit from them if we could just open our minds."

"What is it you have learned from Muggles?"

When he put it that way, it wasn't quite so easy to answer. Charity thought for a moment and said, "Well, I have learned that they aren't really so different from us."

Dumbledore spent a few moments deep in thought and then said, "So, you are saying that the low profile of Muggle Studies in our schools has been a great disservice to the magical community as a whole." She nodded, and he went on, "You think that, while wizards and Muggles have managed to do just fine living in our two parallel worlds, in the end, it will be by bringing these two communities together that humankind will truly thrive."

"Yes, yes," Charity was quick to put in.

"Well, I must say, Miss Burbage, I quite agree with you. That is precisely why Hogwarts will be the first school of wizardry and witchcraft to change the focus of the Muggle Studies curriculum. No longer will Muggles be studied simply as a curiosity that we are forced to deal with from time to time. We must find a way to bridge the gap between 'us' and 'them,' and bring greater unity to all humankind." He paused to snack on another Ju-Ju Bee - this time green.

"As you've pointed out, by bringing a greater knowledge of Muggles to our young magical minds, and focusing on the similarities rather than the differences, we will make great strides in achieving our long term goal. How can we expect Muggles to ever fully understand us if we don't first fully understand them? You are quite right to acknowledge that the change will be gradual, but any step forward is a good step. Yes, yes, you are quite right there."

Charity was getting quite puffed up. Arguably the greatest wizard of modern times liked her ideas! How he was able to infer them all from the only two complete sentences she had uttered so far, she wasn't quite sure, but he was obviously very intuitive.

"Well then, Miss Burbage, or shall I say 'Professor', welcome to Hogwarts!" he said, giving her a warm handshake and a gummy-green smile. With that handshake, Charity became Professor Burbage.

The rest of Charity's summer was spent preparing the new curriculum. Muggle Studies was to remain an elective course for third and fourth years. Professor Dumbledore had been rather vague about actual course requirements, telling her only to use her best judgment. He refused to give her materials from the previous years' classes; he said he didn't want her to be limited by what had been done in the past. When she'd explained to him that she had no formal teaching experience, his only response was an enthusiastic, "Excellent!"

Charity arrived at Hogwarts a week before classes started. As her carriage drove between the stone pillars topped with statues of winged boars, she still could not believe that she was to be a professor here. Her carriage curved around a large lake before reaching the front of the magnificent, multi-turreted castle. Once inside, Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress, greeted her in the expansive entrance hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Burbage," the tall older witch said with a friendly, yet formal smile. "Mr. Filch, please have Professor Burbage's items taken to her room," Professor McGonagall said to a gaunt, rather mean-looking, older gentleman, who grunted and headed out the door to the carriage. McGonagall then led Charity to her apartment on the third floor at the back of the castle. Charity tried to set her mind around the logistics of the castle during her brisk walk behind Professor McGonagall. This was no easy task, as at least two of the staircases shifted as they climbed them, and the one staircase she remembered from when she'd interviewed with Dumbledore had completely vanished.

Charity felt very much as if she'd stepped back in time upon crossing the Hogwarts gates. Advancements that Muggles used to compensate for their lack of magic, such as electricity and telephones, were rendered useless at the school. The corridors were lit only by torches held in brackets so that the stone walls and floors were bathed in constant movement of shadow and light. Centuries old portraits and other paintings lined the walls. They were all originals, as evidenced by the fact that the subjects of the paintings not only moved, as with wizard photographs and prints, but also talked. The subjects of the paintings seemed to be a pleasant group (definitely more pleasant than the lot hanging in Dumbledore's office) and uttered friendly greetings as Charity passed.

All of the teaching staff at Hogwarts lived in spacious studio apartments within the castle, except the Care of Magical Creatures instructor, who was also the gamekeeper and lived in his own cabin on Hogwarts property. The teachers entered their apartments through various decoyrations in their offices. The decoyrations had the appearance of common, decorative items but were actually decoys that concealed the entrances to the teachers' private quarters. They were put in place to keep students out of the teacher's personal spaces. After a while, Charity realized that these precautions were hardly necessary, as the students never seemed to show even the slightest curiosity as to where the teachers slept, relaxed, and generally lived.

Charity accessed her apartment through a large grapevine wreath entwined with dried roses, lavender, and small bluebirds. There was also a camouflaged cockroach hidden among the flora. A simple command of, 'la cucaracha,' (something Charity had picked up on a trip to Mexico) would send the little cockroach running around the wreath, and the entrance would be unzipped.

The entrances to staff apartments were secret even to the other teachers, unless they had been invited in. Before the students arrived, Charity had already been to tea at Professor Sprout's, and had accepted an invitation to visit Professor McGonagall the following week. Professor Sprout, the Herbology instructor, entered her jungle-like apartment through a very large Vibrating Viburnum. Sprout's guests were always in a jovial mood upon entering, because the entrance itself was very ticklish. Charity had already heard rumors that the Potions professor's decoyration was a large jar of decayed wolves' tongues; she doubted very much that she'd ever be invited to tea by anyone who possessed a large jar of decayed wolves' tongues.

Charity was grateful to see that her apartment had a decent sized window to let in natural sunlight. She unpacked her trunks after a winded Filch dropped them off, and soon had her new home filled with flowers and pillows and soft perfumes. The soft perfumes helped cut down on the less pleasant scent of the most fragrant item in her room – her pet bunny, Bnickel. She set his hutch by the window, where he had an excellent view of the vast forest at the edge of the grounds. Bnickel was a beautiful black and white Dutch bunny that had been given to Charity as a gift from a Muggle family she had once stayed with while doing research. He was a Muggle bunny through-and-through with absolutely no magical powers whatsoever. Nevertheless, Charity insisted that there was something inherently magical about bunnies in the way they were able to so prolifically reproduce; not to mention there had to be some reason that Muggle "magicians" unwaveringly resorted to bunnies when it came time to pull something out of a hat.

The time had come, at last, for the students to arrive. Charity looked forward to the new life and energy that they would bring to the old castle. After walking past the corridor to the kitchens, where she heard a great scuffling going on, smashing dishes and shouts, she entered the Great Hall. It was a magnificent sight – five long tables adorned with golden plates and goblets and hundreds of candles flickering off of them. The ceiling of the great room was bewitched to match the skies outside, and tonight it was a dark purplish-gray, flecked with occasional bursts of lightning. It only added to the mystique of the room.

Charity took her place at the far side of the staff table which was perpendicular to the four long house tables that would soon be filled with students. Hogwarts students were divided into four houses – Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The houses were named after the four founders of the school. Students were sorted into their houses at the beginning of their first year at Hogwarts by some mysterious process. Charity had been told it had something to do with a hat. She didn't quite understand how it all worked, so she was curious to see the sorting which would take place that night.

After most of the professors were seated, students began filing into the Great Hall, many of them soaking wet from the heavy rains falling outside. The same shouts that had been coming from the kitchen seemed to have moved to the entrance hall, and Charity also detected McGonagall's angry voice in the mix. Surveying the now nearly full tables, Charity saw the students grouping into their own little cliques, which seemed to be primarily based on age and house. She noticed innocent, and some not-so-innocent, chiding going on between the tables. Each year the houses competed on a points system to win the House Cup, so it was only natural that rivalries would form between them.

Soon the huge doors of the Great Hall opened again, and Professor McGonagall lead a long line of small students in. The first years. They really did look much younger than the other students, and most definitely more nervous. These poor souls were positively drenched. One of the smallest students was so wet that he'd been wrapped in an enormous moleskin overcoat.

McGonagall set a stool in front of the line and placed a beat up wizard's hat upon it. '_Aha, the Sorting Hat,_' thought Charity. The hat suddenly broke into song. Something about the four founders of the school and the values of each house. She caught that Gryffindors were the brave ones, Ravenclaws the cleverest, Hufflepuffs were hard workers, and Slytherins favored ambition. The rest of the song was lost on Charity, as she was too busy soaking up the atmosphere and wondering how this filthy old thing could make all of these character judgments, much less sing.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," McGonagall announced to the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.1"

"Ackerly, Stewart," she called out.

A very nervous looking boy walked to the stool, slipped on the hat, and sat down. Within seconds, the hat shouted, "RAVENCLAW!" and the boy took off the hat and rushed to his table.

During the sorting, an oversized man with a great bushy black beard slid into the Hall through a back door and came to the end of the table, taking the vacant chair next to Charity. This was Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper and relatively new teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. Charity had already invited him into her classroom to meet Bnickel, and although Hagrid had been polite, she could tell he was far short of impressed with her bunny, what with only the one head and no flames bursting out of any orifice.

The boy in the moleskin coat had just been sorted into Gryffindor, and Hagrid burst into applause. Charity looked from the enormous coat to Hagrid and asked, "Is that yours?"

"Yeah, ruddy little guy fell righ' into the lagoon. Ne'er had that happen before," he answered as he pounded his ham-sized fists together.

"Well, that was very nice of you to take such good care of him."

"I 'spect it was the giant squid what actually saved 'im."

The sorting process continued up to Whitby, Kevin, who went to Hufflepuff. Charity smiled and clapped along with the others, but still had no idea how the sorting had been accomplished.

Professor Dumbledore then rose to his feet and smiled with his arms open wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you – t_uck in,_2_" _he said to the hungry crowd.

The students erupted in cheers as the empty dishes around them filled magically with the most delicious looking food. Charity passed the potatoes immediately to Hagrid, who looked like he could use something nice and warm about now. It was only after taking a few bites of her own Yorkshire pudding that Charity noticed the pearly white, semi-transparent beings floating around the tables. Ghosts. When she asked Hagrid about them, he explained that each house had their own ghost, "Sorta like a mascot. Don' tell them tha' though."

When they had finished their meal, Dumbledore rose again and the room became silent except for the sounds of the wind and rain.

"Now that we are all fed and watered I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices,3" he said and went on to list the items that Mr. Filch, the caretaker, banned from the school, and reminded the students that the Forbidden Forest, which was at the edge of the grounds, was off-limits to them. Same for the nearby village of Hogsmeade for first and second years.

As Dumbledore was about to explain why there would be no Inter-House Quidditch (the wizard equivalent to soccer) Cup this year, there was an enormous clap of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open to reveal a very alarming-looking man. He had a rough face with deep scars and an entire chunk missing from his nose. To make it worse, he walked on a wooden leg. The most alarming thing about his appearance; however, was one of his eyes. It was large and electric blue. It moved constantly, never stopping and never blinking, and appeared to be completely disconnected from his other beady eye.

This was Alastor (also known as Mad-Eye) Moody, an Auror from the Ministry of Magic. Aurors were among the bravest and most skilled of wizards and witches; their job was to protect the world from Dark Magic. Moody was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Charity had been pre-warned about his appearance and rough manner, but clearly the students had had no idea, because they were all sitting silently, staring at him, mouths slightly agape. Even with the pre-warning, Charity herself was caught off guard.

Dumbledore announced, "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Professor Moody.4" Only Dumbledore and Hagrid clapped their hands weakly, while the rest of the room continued to stare. Moody didn't seem to notice as he continued chewing on a sausage, a plate of which had suddenly appeared in front of him when he sat down at the staff table, and pulled a flask from his coat.

Dumbledore then cleared his throat and continued with his announcement, "As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.5"

"You're JOKING!6" yelled a red-haired student at the Gryffindor table. This seemingly involuntary exclamation helped break the tension that had entered the room along with Moody.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,7" said Dumbledore.

'_Weasley,_' thought Charity. '_Of course, flaming red hair - must be Charlie's brother_.' She noticed a few other red-heads at the student's table, and remembered that Charlie had come from a very large family.

The tournament had, of course, also been explained to all of the teaching staff earlier. It was an ancient tradition to try and foster ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities. The tournament was a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took turns hosting the tournaments once every five years.

The tournament's challenges were very dangerous, and many students had died as a result, so it had been discontinued. Now, for some reason, the departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports had deemed the timing right to bring the tournament back. Many members of these two organizations and staff from each of the three schools had worked very hard over the summer to ensure the safety of these games. Having only arrived a week ago, Charity knew very little of the preparations, however, Dumbledore had just announced that one of the precautions would be to set an age limit of seventeen, to the dismay of many vocal students.

Dumbledore also announced that each of the other two schools would be sending a contingent in October which would stay at Hogwarts for most of the school year. Finally, with a "Bedtime! Chop chop!8" he dismissed the students. After they had cleared out, and Charity was making her way out along the staff table, Dumbledore pulled her aside.

"Professor Burbage, I must apologize. In the excitement over the Triwizard Tournament, and the rather dramatic entrance of Professor Moody, I neglected to introduce our new Muggle Studies teacher. I promise to take care of this oversight at breakfast tomorrow." After some thought, and Charity's insistence that no apologies were necessary, he said, "Perhaps it is for the best. I expect you will garner a few more applause than did Professor Moody, and it's probably kinder not to make the disparity quite so apparent."

He was right, as he so often was. Charity was greeted with warm applause at her introduction the next morning, and even caught a couple of cat calls coming from the direction of the Gryffindor table.

Twenty-five students were enrolled in Muggle Studies for that school year. Charity had decided to focus her lessons primarily on Muggle history, which she believed all students could benefit from, even those coming from Muggle homes, as it had a major impact on the world in which they all lived. Ever since Charity's interview with Dumbledore, one of her pet goals was to bring wizards and Muggles closer together so that one day, perhaps, the need to keep the magical world such a secret would disappear.

She was surprised when, a few lessons in, some of the students remarked that Muggle history was far more exciting than wizard history. She found this incredible, until she met with Professor Binns, who taught History of Magic. She had wanted to compare lesson plans to see if the two of them could coordinate time periods of study. Rather than engaging in a lively discussion paralleling the happenings in the two worlds, Binns, who was the only professor that was a ghost, merely floated up to the chalkboard and launched into a long droning lecture, apparently expecting her to take notes.

Charity made a deliberate decision to use only Muggle techniques in class. Her lectures were in front of a chalkboard, using actual chalk and not her wand to write. The students used wooden pencils, not quills, and wrote in spiral bound notebooks, not on parchment. The text books were the very same books that Muggle school children read. No moving photos, no disappearing ink, just words and the occasional inanimate picture. The students were very curious about these ordinary items on the first day of class. When several classes had passed, and not one student had yet asked her to use the pencil sharpener, Charity noticed that, somehow, their pencil tips were never dull. Upon further inspection she found that they were magically, and seemingly unconsciously, maintaining a sharpened lead with a very basic charm that even students could accomplish through their fingertips. She drew their attention to this infraction on Muggle Rules, and after first being quite impressed with themselves at their inadvertent magic, they were thrilled to be able to use the crank pencil sharpener. Charity spent most of the next couple lessons shooing students out of line for the sharpener and developed an acute headache from the relentless grinding coming from that corner of the room.

Headaches aside, Charity exuded a positive energy that everyone around her seemed to pick up on, and she quickly became very well liked by her students. It didn't hurt that she had bright shining eyes, loose golden curls, and was more than a decade younger than anyone else on the staff. Even Peeves was taken with her. The first time she met the resident poltergeist, her books and papers went flying when he suddenly swooped from behind a statue of a one-eyed humpbacked witch near her office. This statue always gave her the creeps, and when the poltergeist shot out of it straight at her, she completely lost her nerve. Lucky for Charity, she had learned a long time ago to fight fire with sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. So, she laughed as she picked up her scattered belongings and complemented Peeves on his cleverness.

"At last, Dumby's hired a teacher with a sense of humor!" Peeves sang with delight. The next time she saw him, she wondered aloud how Peeves would look in the puffed out bloomers that a duke was sporting in a nearby portrait. Peeves flew to the portrait and positioned himself to look as if he was wearing the bloomers. The two of them had a good chuckle, while the duke stormed out of the portrait.

Many weeks later, their friendship firmly established, Charity tossed a mango she'd smuggled from the kitchens to Peeves and said, "Catch!" To her great surprise, he did catch it. She had expected it to float right through him.

Seeing her surprise, Peeves told her, "I'm a poltergeist, baby!"

Charity had never really distinguished between your everyday ghost and a poltergeist, so Peeves decided to demonstrate on Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost who was floating past at the moment. In life, Nick's head had nearly been severed off except for one thin flap of iridescent skin that still attached it to his neck.

"Catch!" Peeves yelled, throwing the mango to Nearly Headless, who only let it float through his ghostly form, rolled his eyes, and kept moving along. The resident ghosts didn't have much time for Peeves and his shenanigans. Charity picked up the now ice-cold mango, and she and Peeves laughed as they strolled down the hall, having a nice game of catch. Peeves' smile suddenly disappeared as he looked down the hall at the approaching bat-like figure of Severus Snape, the Potions professor, whose sharp features seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl. Peeves quickly tossed the mango back to Charity and disappeared.

Snape gave Charity barely a nod in greeting as he passed, and she thought to herself, '_Even the ghosts hate him_?' At the same moment, Snape's scowl turned quizzical, as if to say, '_Even the ghosts like her?_' They continued down the hall, moving away from each other with their opposing thoughts. It wasn't the last time such a thing would occur between them.

1 Text is exact quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling p.178

22 Ibid, p. 180

3 Ibid, p. 183

4 Ibid, p. 185

5 Ibid, p. 186

6 Ibid

7 Ibid

8 Ibid, p. 189


	2. Dragons

Dragons

Dragons

A week before Halloween Argus Filch, the grumpy caretaker, stopped by Charity's office and dropped off a bucket and several cleaning supplies. He responded to her questioning look by saying with a mean smirk, "The headmaster will explain it all to you at the staff meeting tonight." Then he pointedly readjusted a can of rodent repellent in his pocket, and shot a menacing glance toward Bnickel while his malevolent cat, Mrs. Norris, wound hungrily around his leg.

"He's _not_ a rodent," Charity said in defense of her pet.

"We'll see what the Headmaster has to say about that," Filch said with one last flash of his yellowed teeth. Just to be safe, Charity locked her bunny in her room before going to the staff lounge where Dumbledore announced that the delegations from the wizarding schools of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving in one week's time. Charity soon found out what that had to do with the cleaning supplies when he explained that as a junior professor, she would help Filch oversee a head-to-toe cleaning of the castle.

Any students unlucky enough to receive a detention during that week were sent to either Charity or Filch and made to scrub, dust, polish and scour anything that Filch deemed in need of scrubbing, dusting, polishing and scouring, which was pretty much everything. Word spread and the students were unusually well behaved that week, which meant Charity ended up doing much of the work herself. She didn't mind de-webbing chandeliers and ceiling corners; it was actually kind of fun pointing her wand and simply sucking them up. She couldn't understand why Filch insisted on climbing his ladder and struggling to reach the webs.

Charity's least favorite job was portrait cleaning. The charm to clean paintings was fairly complicated, and the first and only time she tried it she removed a horseman's long flowing hair and wasn't able to replace it with anything more than a very short, choppy buzz cut. The horseman was a bit of a dandy and apparently had taken great pride in his long locks. For the rest of Charity's tenure at Hogwarts that particular horseman's horse would be kicked in its hindquarters and told to "giddy up" any time she came near. Not willing to take any more chances, she stuck with the Muggle techniques that Filch was so fond of. She individually scrubbed each of the portraits with a soft cloth, although you'd have thought she was coming at them with sharp daggers the way they complained about it:

"Oh _you_, yes Lord Flannery told me all about _you."_

"You're going to scrub the paint right off, my dear."

"Ouch!"

A rotund woman in a pink satin dress insisted that she had "only been refurbished just last year. Honestly, you don't know who I am do you? I happen to be one of thee most important portraits in the building, if you know what I mean." Charity had no idea what she meant, but apologized and kept scrubbing. In truth, she much preferred these complaining stationary subjects to the ones that took off into other portraits before she could get them fully scrubbed. She spent many wasted hours just chasing them down. One Sir Cadogan, a fully suited knight, had given her a particularly hard time. He rode his fat pony from painting to painting, and insisted on defending the occupants against this "marauder most foul who seeks to torture and maim the innocent."

One long afternoon, Charity was just beginning on the second floor portraits when Cadogan showed up yet again, saying, "Abandon your vile weapon of destruction or face me, defender of…"

"Shove off Cadogan," said a young witch in one of the portraits as she stuck his pony with a fire poker. The horse reared and ran off, carrying Cadogan's declarations of chivalry into the distance.

"Thanks," said Charity as the portrait subject turned to face her. "I've been dueling with that one all day. So…um, looks like you're next," she said apologetically.

All together there were ten young ladies in the portrait. They appeared to be having some sort of a tea party, several of them were holding ornate china tea cups while others held small plates of the most delicious looking chocolate cake. The majority of the young women were sitting in chairs that had been assembled in a semi-circle, while a few others either served cake at an oak sideboard or stood looking out a narrow window. When Charity mentioned that they were next to be cleaned, the standing subjects scurried to their seats in some excitement. They kicked off their shoes and held out their hands to Charity.

One girl said, "It will be just like…what is it called?"

"A spa," said another girl while the others twittered.

"Yes, a spa. We've been looking forward to it."

"Well wonderful!" exclaimed Charity, grateful for some relief from all the bickering. The girls were dressed in long mantuas with cuffed sleeves at the elbows and elaborate petticoats. Their hair was a riot of curls stacked high above their foreheads and gracefully flowing around their young faces. Charity judged the portrait to be at least a few centuries old. It seemed it had been almost that long since it had last been cleaned as well.

"What is that you're using, dear?" asked one of the girls.

"Just a varnish remover and neutralizer," Charity answered.

"Really?" chimed in another girl. "You may want to try an emulsion cleaner next time, it can work wonders."

"Thanks, but I'll have to run it past the head caretaker first."

"Oh, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," said a dark-eyed girl with a wink.

It was odd - the girls appeared to be only Charity's age, maybe even younger because the formal clothing probably added on a few years, but they spoke like older women. The hour spent with them fussing over her and asking her all sorts questions about the current state of Muggle Studies and a multitude of other topics passed quite pleasurably.

When Charity somewhat reluctantly left them to have another go at Cadogan, one of the girls told her, "Don't worry about him. Once he sees how brilliant we all look after you've finished with us, he'll come crawling to you."

Sure enough, a few days later, helmet in hand, Cadogan approached Charity and said, "Fair maiden, I fear that I have misjudged you. You have served the portraits well." He fell to his knees, saying, "I beg your forgiveness. Please, cleanse me with your wondrous cloth."

"Oh, brother," Charity muttered. She gave him an extra thorough exfoliation for all the trouble he'd given her.

Despite working so closely with Filch all week, Charity's relationship with the caretaker didn't improve one bit. Her usual attempts at flattery and charm had absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. When she complimented his steadfast appreciation of Muggle techniques, both he and his cat only glowered at her and stumped away. Meanwhile, Filch took advantage of every opportunity to belittle Charity. When she struggled to open an unyielding door to de-web the room beyond, Filch walked past and cackled nastily, "That tower's been blasted off for almost three hundred years!" Charity decided her best course of action with Filch and Mrs. Norris was to simply avoid them as much as possible.

The exhausting week wasn't a total loss, however, as the intense preparations resulted in a positively gleaming castle - just in time for the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. As the students and staff lined up to greet their guests, Charity finally stopped to take a breath and noticed that the rest of the teaching staff was whipped into an absolute tizzy. She sensed that the competition between the schools extended far beyond the Triwizard tasks.

"Straighten up Longbottom. For heaven's sake put those away you two!" McGonagall hissed, while Snape eyeballed his line of Slytherin students, roughly straightening collars and smacking any heads that were turned the wrong way. Even Dumbledore's smile seemed to have a somewhat plastered look to it. The guests arrived in dramatic fashion and were ushered into the Great Hall. Once assembled, Dumbledore explained that any student aged seventeen and up who wanted a chance to compete in the Triwizard tournament would have the next twenty four hours to place their name into a golden chalice – the Goblet of Fire.

The actual selection of champions occurred at the Halloween feast the next evening. On that night the golden chalice produced among glowing blue flames the name of one student from each school to represent that school as its champion. A very pretty girl, much admired by most of the boys in the hall, named Fleur Delacour was chosen for Beauxbatons; Victor Krum, who also happened to be a famous professional Quidditch player, for Durmstrang; and Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts, a handsome Hufflepuff boy much admired by most of the girls in the hall.

Charity clapped along with the crowd as she'd done with the Sorting Hat, but had no idea at all how it really worked. She only understood that this was an ancient form of magic and that the goblet was considered infallible; whatever names it produced were not to be challenged. The entire room was surprised when a fourth name appeared in the blue flames – Harry Potter, a Hogwarts student in the Gryffindor house. This was astonishing not only because everyone thought there would be only three champions, but also because Harry was well under-age at only fourteen.

The school soon became consumed with the tournament and speculation about how Harry had managed to get his name in the draw. The Muggle Studies classroom was dominated by Hufflepuffs, most of whom seemed angry that the rule-breaker was trying to steal their champion's glory. It was all Charity could do to keep the students focused on their class work. She tried going with the flow by introducing the ancient Olympic Games in Greece, but soon found out that javelin throwing and chariot racing couldn't compete with what was in store for the four champions.

On a late November day the students and staff of Hogwarts marched out to the grounds to pack into bleachers that were set in an open area around the edge of the Forbidden Forest. What they saw in the clearing was astonishing – an enormous silvery-blue dragon with long pointed horns and a stunted snout. Charity had only ever seen dragons in pictures, so the reality of what was before her took a moment to sink in. It was a gorgeous creature. Magnificent. She was beginning to understand Professor Hagrid's affinity for such creatures. She looked around for him and saw that, sure enough, Hagrid had a front row seat. The look on his face was pure ecstasy.

Her attention snapped back to the dragon when it let out a loud snarl. She glanced fearfully over the crowd of students and considered that it seemed a bit risky to place all of them in such close proximity to the beast, even with the short fence that separated the crowd from the clearing. When she looked back at the dragon, she noted that it didn't seem to be paying the least bit of attention to the crowd. Its snarl had been at a large bird that had swooped too close.

She noticed that her view of the enclosure was somewhat clouded. Looking down to the end of the fence, she saw little Professor Flitwick, the Charms instructor, tapping at the edge of the barely visible smoky wall. Charity figured it must be some sort of large-scale charm that had been placed in front of the crowd to shield it from the Dragon's view as a precaution. Additionally, she now noticed wizards in dark, and presumably fire-resistant, suits and hoods stationed at intervals around the enclosure with their wands at the ready. These were dragon handlers, the specialists Dumbledore had told them would be poised to step in if the task got out of hand.

A whistle blew and Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts entered the ring. Several girls in the crowd shrieked in excitement for the handsome and popular dark haired boy. Clearly, the task had begun, but there'd been no announcements ahead of time to explain what the champions had to do. The crowd figured out soon enough that the objective was for each champion to extract a golden egg from among a nest of the dragon's real eggs. Diggory paced back and forth as the dragon began snapping and snarling furiously in defense of its eggs. He pointed his wand at a large rock in the enclosure, and the rock began to turn black and change shape. It transformed into a black Labrador Retriever, and the crowd screamed. Charity could hear Professor McGonagall clapping furiously and yelling, "Well done Diggory!"

The dog ran for it, and the dragon went for the chase, while Diggory drew nearer to the eggs. The dragon's maternal instincts were too strong, and she turned in time to shoot a blast of fire that knocked him back. The crowd yelled as Diggory ducked behind another rock just in time to avoid being completely barbequed.

"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow. He's taking risks, this one!1" said Ludo Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports for the Ministry of Magic, who had finally stepped up to commentate on the task.

Diggory performed a series of tricky spells to try and further distract the dragon but to no avail. Luckily, the unwise dog circled back and caught the dragon's attention just long enough for Diggory to dive at the nest, grab the golden egg, and roll behind another rock. The crowd burst into applause, and the dragon handlers rushed to the field to subdue the dragon. To Charity's great surprise, three of the handlers waved their wands in the air around the dragon and a watery looking shield rose all around until it encompassed the dragon. At that point the entire dragon, nest and all, completely disappeared from view. Meanwhile, three other handlers waved their wands in another quadrant of the clearing and an entirely different dragon appeared, this one smooth-scaled and green.

Another whistle sounded, and Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons entered the ring with her silvery blond hair flowing behind her. She gripped her wand tightly, and there was no mistaking the terror on the poor girl's beautiful face. Charity could see the Beauxbatons headmistress (she was at least as large as Hagrid and rather hard to miss) nervously flourishing her wand in a mock charm. Delacour took a deep breath and mimicked her headmistress' exact movement with her wand. She repeated the movement several times before the dragon's eyes became dazed and the green giant gradually fell into a deep sleep. Unfortunately for Delacour, it fell asleep right on top of the eggs. To make matters worse, the dragon snored. Random flames shot from its snout and ignited Delacour's skirt. She quickly doused the flames with a water charm and steered clear of the dragon's snout as she dealt with the problem of removing its ten tons from the eggs. A few prods of her wand and a tickling charm later, the dragon rolled onto its side, exposing the nest, and the golden egg was hers.

Krum was up next, and the surly athlete's performance was nothing short of stupendous. Avid fans throughout the crowd rallied as Krum fearlessly faced an odd-looking red dragon with tiny gold spikes surrounding its pointed face. The creature sent mushroom-shaped fire clouds from its snout as Krum daringly approached it head on. He hit the dragon with a powerful jinx to the eyes that caused the dragon to shriek in agony. The crowd sucked in a unified gasp at the horrible sound. Krum was not abashed and continued on directly toward the thrashing red monster. Charity noticed a thick puss oozing from the dragon's eyes. The puss obstructed the enormous creature's vision and obviously caused extreme pain; its scarlet and gold head rolled back and forth on its thick neck, and the agonized creature began pounding its huge taloned feet on the ground. Charity could feel the bench beneath her vibrate with the force of each step. One of its feet landed right in the nest. To her horror, Charity saw that some of the real eggs had been smashed.

Krum was dangerously close to being smashed along with the eggs when Bagman announced, "That's some nerve he's showing – and- yes, he's got the egg!"2

The final champion entered the ring. Charity was suddenly struck by how much smaller Harry Potter was than the other champions. He had the fiercest looking dragon yet, with thick black scales, vicious yellow eyes, and huge leathery wings. Worst of all, its tail was equipped with six-foot long spikes. Potter's stride was not as confident as Krum's. He waved his wand and yelled an incantation while he held his other arm outstretched. The crowd was breathlessly waiting to see what was going to happen next when a broomstick suddenly came zooming over the bleachers, nearly knocking two students off their top bench. Potter had summoned his racing broom. He mounted it and flew high above the cheering crowd. It seemed as if any hard feelings over how he'd managed to enter the competition had dissolved the moment his small figure entered the clearing to face his formidable opponent.

Potter dove toward the dragon and pulled out just before getting scorched with a burst of flames. Ludo Bagman yelled, "Great Scott he can fly! Are you watching this Mr. Krum?"3 as the crowd roared its approval.

Potter taunted the dragon with some very smart flying. Just as the dragon spread its wings to take off and get him, he dove and grabbed the golden egg. The crowd clapped and cheered; the sound was nearly deafening. All the champions had outwitted their dragon! Charity found their performances amazing, especially since none of them had had any clue what was expected of them until just before they'd entered the clearing.

Once the last champion received his marks (Potter and Krum tied for first), Charity rushed off to the Owlery. Her father, who was hoping to come see at least one of the challenges, was very disappointed to have to miss the very first, so Charity had promised to send him a play-by-play update. His disappointment was sure to increase when he found out that he'd missed one of his favorite Quidditch players, Krum, fighting a dragon! On her way back up to the castle, she looked toward the place where she reckoned the blasted-off tower Filch had chastised her about should be. Sure enough, nothing was there except a mess of bricks that she supposed had once been the base of that tower.

She reached the Owlery, which was a slender turret at the corner of the castle. It was the equivalent of a Muggle post office. Students and staff came here to send their letters and packages, and owls rested here in between deliveries. There were no windows, just curved openings so the owls could come and go freely. Just as Charity finished her letter and rolled up the pressed-flower parchment, a stocky young man walked into the Owlery. He was dressed in black, leathery-looking pants and turtleneck, and his red hair was tousled as if he'd just pulled off a hat he'd been wearing for a very long time.

"Charity…Charity Burbage?" asked the newcomer with a bit of hesitation.

"Charlie Weasley!" Charity yelped and jumped up into his slightly scorched, outstretched arms as the old friends recognized each other. Charlie and Charity had met many summers earlier at a magical adventure camp when they were still students.

"I'd heard you were off working with dragons somewhere. I should've realized you'd be here!" Charity said.

"Well, we had to keep everything top secret, you know. How about that challenge! Unbelievable, wasn't it?"

"Incredible," Charity responded, still in awe of it all.

"So, what're you doing here?" Charlie asked.

"Oh, Charlie - I'm a professor!"

"Really?" he asked, trying to cover his surprise with a big smile.

"Yes," she laughed. "Don't worry about it, Charlie, no one is more surprised than me."

"What'd' you teach?"

"Muggle Studies."

"Muggles! Does my dad know? He'll flip - he's nutters for them y'know."

"Oh yeah – I'd forgotten about that. Maybe I'll have to have him in as a guest speaker some time.

"He'd sure love that," Charlie said. The two old friends stood smiling at each other and arranged to get together one more time in the nearby, all-wizard village of Hogsmeade to talk about old times before Charlie was off again to return the dragons to Romania.

Before popping into the Three Broomsticks, a cozy Hogsmeade pub, Charity and Charlie visited many of the shops; Charlie, who usually found himself in the depths of a remote forest or on the vast plains of some Dragon habitat, was eager to stock up on as much as he could from civilization. As they walked from shop to shop along the wide street, they made fast friends with one of the local strays. The mangy black dog waited for them to emerge from each shop and then trotted along beside them to the next, probably because Charlie slipped him a sweet from Honeydukes every time. Along the way, Charity had the oddest sensation that the large, scruffy dog was actually paying rapt attention to their conversation, particularly when they discussed thrilling details of the first Triwizard challenge and the possible dangers to face the champions in the future. She wondered if it was perhaps the dog Cedric Diggory had transformed from the rock.

The dog became very affectionate when Charity knelt down to give him a good rubbing behind the ears. He'd jumped up with his paws on her shoulders and licked her face and neck so vigorously that he almost knocked her over before Charlie yelled at him, "I'm _serious_, get off of her!" The dog immediately backed off and seemed genuinely abashed, although Charity thought she detected a new swagger in its step afterwards. On future visits to Hogsmeade, she was sure to remain resolutely upright when patting him on the head while he gobbled whatever sweet she'd given him. She never did see the dog again after her first year at Hogwarts. She hoped he was okay - and that he'd found himself a girlfriend.

1 Text is exact quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling p.352

2 Ibid, p. 353

3 Ibid, p. 354


	3. The Yule Ball

The Yule Ball

The Yule Ball

At the beginning of December, a bushy tree appeared in the doorway of the Muggle Studies classroom. There were great grunts as the tree pushed its way through the doorway and Hagrid appeared behind it. None of the students were surprised at his appearance, as Hagrid enveloped by marching pine trees was a common site around Hogwarts in December. A tree in their classroom, however, was a bit more unusual.

"Thank You, Hagrid," smiled Charity. "Would you stay and help us decorate?" she asked once he had the tree securely standing in the front corner of the room. Hagrid looked pleased at the invitation, but he leaned in close to her and whispered,

" 'Preciate the invitation ma'am, but I, well yeh see, not allowed ter to use Magic."

"No problem," Charity winked and whispered back. "This is Muggle Studies; none of us use magic in this classroom."

Hagrid straightened up proudly and said loudly this time, "Why thank yeh, Miss, er Professor Burbage, I'd be happy to stay and help yeh out."

Out came the boxes of tinsel, ornaments, and chocolate coins to hang on the tree. Charity explained the Muggle tradition in Trafalgar Square where the people of Norway have sent a huge Norwegian spruce every year since 1947 as a 'thank you' to England for hosting the King of Norway during his exile during the Second World War. She noticed that Hagrid gave a little sigh every time she used the word 'Norwegian.'

"The Muggles decorate it and have a great ceremony each year. If ever you get the chance to go, you should. You won't believe there's no magic involved at all." Then she explained that, for many centuries, the Muggles actually decorated their trees with apples, cakes, and sweets and she produced a bakery box from under her desk filled with them. Charity, the students, and Hagrid spent the rest of the class finding spots for these treats - either on the tree or in their bellies. Hagrid left with almost as much sugar and candy in his bushy black beard as hair.

In keeping with Triwizard tradition, most of the students fourth year and above remained at Hogwarts over the holidays to attend a Yule Ball on Christmas day. Charity had been to a formal dance at Hogwarts once before - when she was a school girl and one of Charlie Weasley's housemates had invited her. That was a long time ago, yet she entered the room on the night of the Yule Ball with the same sense of excitement and possibility. She wore a shimmering mint green dress and capelet with the edges finished in soft white fur. Her long hair was expertly twisted into tight ringlets that were loosely held back with a wide, rhinestone-encrusted comb that resembled a small tiara. She looked rather like a shiny, new snowflake floating into the ball.

She did not recognize the Great Hall as she stepped into it. It felt more like an elegant party on the great polar ice-cap itself. The walls were covered in a sparkling silver frost and the long house tables were gone; in their place were several small round tables with flickering lanterns at their center. Garlands of mistletoe and ivy hung below the ceiling, which had been enchanted to velvety black studded with shining stars. All the flickering and sparkling gave the event a surreal effect.

Nor did Charity recognize the students and staff. She wasn't the only one who'd purchased a new outfit for the occasion. Standard black robes had been replaced with beautiful shades of frosty blue and iced pink. The girls' hair was straightened, curled, frosted, and mostly piled up atop their pretty faces, and the boys looked smart in their deeply-colored, formal robes, even if many of them looked as if they'd rather be hanging out playing a game of exploding snap anywhere else. Charity couldn't help but become a little tearful with pride as she spotted a few of her own students walking into the big event.

Charity had dinner at a table full of professors, including Hagrid in a dead-looking brown suit. He kept waving over to the table of judges and champions at Madame Maxime, the large-boned headmistress from Beauxbatons. After dinner the Weird Sisters band began playing music as the tables were whisked away, leaving space for a very large dance floor. The dancing started with the four champions and their dates, and others soon joined in. Charity was pulled, quite literally, onto the dance floor by Hagrid. She soon discovered his urgency to dance when he awkwardly cut in on Dumbledore, who had been dancing with Madame Maxime. Charity then had the great pleasure of finishing the dance with Professor Dumbledore. He simply glided along the dance floor once he had a partner more his stature.

The teachers made a game of switching partners at every song. Professor Flitwick was very light on his feet, while Professor Binns turned out to be just as boring on the dance floor as he was in the classroom. Charity was thankful that Professor Moody's peg leg and grim attitude kept him far from the dancing. Charity had not been comfortable around Moody ever since he'd caught her in the hall a few weeks before the ball and flat out told her that Muggle Studies was a "waste of time."

Taking a break, Charity accepted a nog from a floating tray and headed over to talk to some students from her class. Padma Patil and her twin sister were sitting with a group of boys from Beauxbatons. One of the Beauxbatons boys was a Muggle born, so Charity questioned him a bit about French Muggle customs at the holidays.

"Fascinating!" she had just finished saying when someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was an athletic-looking, older student whom she did not recognize from Hogwarts, although he looked vaguely familiar.

"Pardon me, but would you like to dance?"

Swigging the rest of her nog, Charity answered, "Certainly," and the boy led her to the dance floor. The Weird Sisters were playing a low-key number, so they were able to chat over the bagpipes.

"Are you from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?" she asked, although his accent sounded more Scottish Brogue.

"Neither," he answered proudly. "I'm a Hogwarts alum. Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, including last year when we won the Quidditch Cup."

"Ah, Quidditch. You're…um…um…you've just started playing professionally, right?" Charity's father followed Quidditch pretty closely, and she remembered him pointing out a small photo in a _Quidditch Illuminated_ article that had mentioned something about one of the teams picking up a player from Hogwarts.

"That's right! I'm Oliver Wood and I play for Puddlemere United," he said robustly. "Reserve team for now, but practices are going very well and I expect to be brought up in the spring!"

The music picked up, so they had to shout to be heard. "SO, WHEN DID YOU COME TO HOGWARTS? I DON'T REMEMBER SEEING YOU AROUND," Oliver said.

"OH, JUST THIS YEAR. I'M TEACHING MUGGLE STUDIES."

"YOU'RE A PROFESSOR?" he said as his jaw dropped. "I MIGHT'VE FOCUSED A LOT MORE ON MY SCHOOLWORK AND LESS ON QUIDDITCH IF I'D'VE HAD A PROFESSOR LIKE YOU!"

'_What a sweet kid,_' thought Charity.

The sweet kid was then assaulted on the dance floor by two flaming redheads, who mussed his hair and pounded his back, yelling, "Wood! Wood old MAN!"

"Weasleys!" shouted Oliver, trying to shake them off. "Professor, er…"

"Burbage!" Fred and George said in unison, raising their eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Professor Burbage," Oliver continued, "These are my two beaters from the gryffindor Quidditch team, Fred and George Weasley."

"Oh, I know who these two are," Charity said, giving them a mock reproving look.

The twins turned to each other in feigned shock with their hands clapped to their hearts and said, "She knows us, Fred!"

"She knows us, George!"

"YES, YOU'RE THE TWO LITTLE BOYS WHO LEFT A ZONCO'S ZAPPER ON MY CHAIR WHEN I CAME TO DINNER WITH YOUR BROTHER CHARLIE MANY YEARS AGO."

"THAT WAS _YOU_?" Gawked the twins. This time their shock was real, and Charity laughed.

"Oh hey!" one of the twins suddenly shouted, "Listen!" A new, very loud, very fast song began (who knew bagpipes could do that!) and there was much jumping and flailing of limbs. The Weasleys began a pulsating conga-line that Charity found herself swept into. They congaed through the middle of the dance floor - picking up dancers as they went, wound around tables, and made their way through the entrance hall and out to the gardens, where thousands of live fairies lit the lawn. The line eventually wound its way back to the dance floor and broke up.

Out of breath, Charity left the dance floor, grabbed another nog, and made her way to the dessert table that had just appeared at one end of the room. She studied the amazing array of sweets as she caught her breath. A large flan was shaped like a dragon. It obviously represented the first challenge, and she wondered if any of the other desserts gave clues as to what the next two tasks would be. The dark figure of Professor Snape was standing near a huge tray of jellied spiders. He was a lean man of moderate height with roughly chiseled features, including a prominent nose that curved down at the end like a hawk's beak. His pale complexion suggested he hadn't seen natural sunlight for a very long time. He was dressed in his typical all-black tonight, but Charity noticed that he was slightly spruced up with a simple satin edging to his jacket and polished copper buttons on his vest.

Charity had not had much interaction with Snape since coming to Hogwarts. His intimidating presence had kept her at her distance, although she'd noticed that he was regarded by the other teachers with grudging respect. He was apparently a very gifted wizard, and it was well known around the castle that Snape was typically at the headmaster's side during matters of importance. As Charity wandered near Snape, filling her plate along the way, he murmured in his deep voice, "Be careful, Miss Burbage, or someone might think you actually _like_ the students."

Charity looked up in some surprise at being directly addressed by him. She smiled, thinking he was joking, but then saw that he was dead serious. Or was his sense of humor that dry?

"Professor Snape, I _do_ like the students," she laughed.

"You weren't hired here to be their friend," he said sternly, peering at her through his curtain of jet black hair, which extended past his chin with a greasy sheen. Was he reprimanding her?

"Oh, was I hired here to be their enemy then? Silly me, I thought I was just supposed to teach them," she said as she reached for one of the spiders. She didn't care how brilliant Snape was, as far as she knew Dumbledore was the only one she had to report to. Snape looked a bit affronted that a junior professor, and especially one so young, would speak to him so tartly, but she wasn't about to lose her point to his cold stare.

"You know, you're the one that ought to be careful," she continued, looking straight at him. "It appears as if you are _afraid_ to like the students." He didn't answer, but she thought she caught the tiniest glint of amusement in his dark eyes (she noticed for the first time that his eyes were as black as his hair) and went on, "Or even worse, that _they_ might like _you_." He rolled his eyes in disgust at her comment, and Charity found she quite enjoyed getting under Snape's sallow skin. This gave her an idea.

"Professor Snape," she said as she leaned in closer, "_I_ like you." She nodded her sparkly head as he shot her a suspicious look. It was true, although she didn't realize how true until she'd said it out loud. Despite Snape's nasty disposition, she was intrigued by his dangerous dark looks and high intellect. It was time to show him exactly who he was dealing with. "But here's a really bad bit of news for you," she added, "I'm going to make _you_ like _me_."

Before Snape could say a word, Charity turned on her heel and walked away. When she snuck a peek back, he was still watching her, his mouth slightly agape.


	4. The Owls

Chapter 4

The Owls

Charity took it as a very good sign when many of her students returned to class the following term with folders bearing the image of the latest Muggle heart throb, and when some of the girls gathered in the corner of the classroom to giggle over an article in the Muggle newspaper about the Prince of Wales. While acceptance of Muggle pop-culture was a good step in the right direction, Charity had more important lessons to tackle. She chose the week following the holidays to cover the year's toughest lesson – Nazi Germany. The class studied Hitler's rise to power and saw photos of Auschwitz, the largest of the German concentration and extermination camps. The mood in Charity's classroom was somber as winter winds lashed at the castle.

"And so you see students," she said, trying to keep her emotions in check, "often the most egregious, most horrendous, crimes against humanity have been committed by humanity itself."

As the final test on this unit, Charity asked the class to write an essay comparing Adolph Hitler with someone from the wizarding world. Most of them chose Voldemort (opting for the more socially acceptable title of You-Know-Who in their actual writing) as their wizard subject, while a few stretched a bit further back in history and wrote about Grindelwald. To a student, they cited both of the evil wizards' quests to rid the wizarding community of Muggle-borns. Only one joker, Charles Whitney, wrote about Argus Filch's grand scheme to rid the world of Hogwarts students.

Voldemort was, of course, the freshest on everyone's mind, as many of the students' parents were around to see the havoc he and his followers, known as Death Eaters, had wrought. He had blessedly disappeared under mysterious circumstances by the time any of Charity's students were old enough to remember. Still, his memory hung heavily over the community, and very few wizards were comfortable speaking, much less hearing or writing, his name. Gellert Grindelwald was out of power and imprisoned by the time Voldemort came to the scene, but his legend still lived on, particularly around Hogwarts since Dumbledore was the wizard that had brought him down. Grindelwald made a particularly interesting study on this assignment because his attempt to dominate the wizarding world occurred at the same time as Hitler's attempt on the Muggle world.

The following week at breakfast, Charity was surprised when a number of owls landed right in front of her and dropped several letters on her toast. The owls then shook the slush off their battered feathers and onto the table and took off in unison towards the high windows, leaving her with a mushy pile of letters and soggy toast. Abandoning her breakfast, she went to work on the letters. All of them were from parents of her students, and all had the same basic message:

Dear Professor Burbage,

I've heard from Mrs. Lane who heard from the MacMillans that you have had our children write essays defaming the character of a certain powerful Wizard who shall-not-be-named. Surely, you can understand the risks associated with such a project.

I certainly hope you have at least had the sense to destroy the children's essays as soon as you assigned the grades. If not, I request you do so now. RIGHT NOW!

As you are an inexperienced teacher, I will leave it at that, for now. If, however, I hear of any other such projects going on in your classroom I will be forced to have the parents sign a petition to Dumbledore and request that you be removed from Hogwarts.

Most Sincerely,

Bernard Bellwith

Once she got the gist, she quickly gathered up letters and went to her office to destroy the essays. No, she hadn't had the "sense" to destroy them sooner. She felt extremely incensed that the damage Voldemort had done to magical-Muggle relations still lingered a full thirteen years after he had disappeared. At least, she hoped, the lessons the students had learned could not be so easily destroyed.

Not wishing to step on any more toes just yet, Charity decided to lighten the mood and take her students on a field trip during class the next day.

"Leave your books and wands here students. You won't be needing them," she said and led them down, down, down to the kitchens. Students were not supposed to know exactly where the kitchens were, so she'd had to break her Muggle Rules, just this once, to temporarily blind them in the entrance hall. Student by student she said, "Nuloptis," with a quick flick of her wand and spun them each three times. The group then slowly staggered down stairs and into a wide corridor lined with paintings. Charity stopped in front of a giant fruited still life and tickled the pear, which let out an infectious giggle and turned into a big green door knob. She opened the door and helped the students in.

When the students entered the kitchens, and their vision began to clear, they beheld stacks and stacks of dirty plates, bowls, goblets and platters lining the four long tables that mimicked the house tables in the Great Hall directly above. The tiny house elves, who worked in the kitchen, stood around wringing their boney hands and wiggling their pointed ears. They glanced nervously with their giant eyes at the students and then quickly away. They shifted in place on their somewhat dirty bare feet and looked most uncomfortable. One thing they were definitely _not_ doing was working. In the wizarding world, house elves' existence is based on one thing, and that is to serve wizards. For them to stand idly by with so much work right in front of them was a very odd thing indeed.

"What the…" Charity heard a student mutter as he took in the mess.

A few of the house-elves started softly rubbing their legs against the sharp edge of the cabinets, and one had started tapping a very heavy-looking pan on his forehead.

"Stop!" Charity said firmly to the elves, who became very still. Then, she turned to the students and said, "I have instructed the house elves to leave this morning's breakfast dishes untouched - because _we_ are going to immerse ourselves in the Muggle way of life and see what it's like to perform this everyday duty _without_ magic."

"She's crack-..." started Charles Whitney, until she shot him a sharp glance.

"Professor Burbage," asked Jessica shyly, "When there are _this_ many dishes, surely there are Muggle-elves to do the Muggles' dishes for them?"

"No Miss Bellwith, there are not. There are certainly upper-class Muggles that have servants that do this type of work for them, and at large boarding schools, such as Hogwarts, there is a kitchen staff that will do the dishes - but these servants are not elves. Their servants are other Muggles." This statement drew a gasp from the students as well as the elves, proving once again how little the wizarding world truly understood about Muggles. This realization renewed Charity's sense of purpose and restored some of the confidence she had lost after reading the parents' letters.

"So, we are working-class Muggles today students. Roll up your sleeves, and we'll get to work." Charity was gratified to see that, once they got rolling with the liquid soap, dish cloths, towels and twenty-six pairs of rubber gloves that she had brought down the night before, the students seemed to be enjoying themselves. Mounds of soapy bubbles covered the sinks, and the students soon discovered that a tightly wound damp towel could do more damage than a stinging jinx.

"Look I'm Dumbledore!" shouted Ernie Macmillan, who had somehow managed to lump an extremely long row of soap bubbles onto his chin. It was good to see Ernie, who was fairly tightly wound, lighten up a little bit.

Charity showed the students how to make it snow in the kitchens by blowing a load of bubbles off her hand. And so the breakfast dishes got washed as best they could among the bubble snow, snapping towels and laughter of the students and their teacher, who was growing very dear to them. The elves, on the other hand, were far from being thrilled at being relieved of their duties. They merely stood around, their impossibly large eyes somehow looking larger, shrugging their shoulders at one another. Charity got the feeling that all the dishes were re-washed the elfin way as soon as her class departed. Probably for the best.

When class ended, she sent the damp and sudsy students back to the classroom to pick up their items. She was flushed and soapy, but her eyes sparkled as she strolled along behind the students. All thought of the disturbing owl-post was nearly pushed from her mind, until Snape approached her with a cold, "There you are. Professor Dumbledore is waiting to see you in your classroom."

Charity followed Snape silently through the corridors and stairs towards her classroom. This must be about the owls. Had some of the parents already demanded her immediate resignation? Was her tenure at Hogwarts really to be this short lived? She felt a heavy, warm mass growing in the pit of her stomach, and wondered if any of the students had ever felt this way as they were being led to visit the mighty headmaster.

As they approached her classroom, students shot her concerned glances as they quickly made their way out with their books and wands. Snape stopped her short, just before the doorway. He cupped her chin in his long fingers and brushed away a spot of foamy white suds from her cheek with his thumb. She gave him a weak smile of appreciation for this unexpected gesture of kindness. Or did he merely want to point out that she was a mess?

Professor Dumbledore was standing at the front of the room, looking out the window. When he turned, she was surprised to see he was holding Bnickel. She'd forgotten that she'd left her pet to roam free in the classroom to exercise while the class was out. It was something she couldn't do at night because the caretaker's malevolent cat roamed free at that time and had made too many attempts on Bnickel's life. Dumbledore was holding the rabbit in one arm and stroking his black and white fur with his other hand. Bnickel lay with his fur puffed out and his eyes narrowed to relaxed slits as he enjoyed the rubdown. When Dumbledore spied Charity, he gently reached for one of the bunny's front paws.

"I'd say we've got four lucky paws right here because they're attached to this adorable rascal," Dumbledore said as he nuzzled Bnickel's head. Charity relaxed a bit; it was difficult to be intimidated by someone who nuzzled bunnies and used words like "rascal."

Snape had turned to go, but Dumbledore asked him to stay and shut the door behind him. Then, turning back to Charity he said, "I've received a few letters today regarding your latest assignment in Muggle Studies."

"Yes, I, er, received a few myself," she replied nervously.

"I suspected as much when I saw the soggy mound in front of your breakfast yesterday."

'_Here it comes'_ she thought and braced herself.

"I just wanted to tell you - excellent job," Dumbledore said, beaming at her with a smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

'_What?_' she thought and barely kept herself from saying aloud.

"You've managed to spark an interest in a subject that heretofore has been all but ignored. You are already doing just what I'd hoped you would," he continued with a sideways glance towards Snape. "So, I merely came down here this morning to tell you to keep up the good work!" Then, he handed the bunny to Snape, gave it another pat and left.

Bnickel wasn't quite so comfortable in Snape's grasp and immediately began squirming. Snape looked just about as uncomfortable as the rabbit. Charity couldn't help but allow herself a few moments of mindless beaming before she scooped up her pet with a "Thank you," to Snape, who exited as quickly as possible.


	5. The Lake

Chapter 5

The Lake

Once again, the school became consumed with Triwizard fever as the second challenge approached in late February. Charity's father was able to break away for this challenge and joined her just after breakfast that morning. His eyes were ablaze with excitement, and he wore an excited boyish grin, the likes of which Charity had never seen on him before.

"Hi dad!" she said brightly as she rose up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. On the way down, she nearly gored her chin on the large Bulgarian National's Quidditch button he had sloppily pinned to his cloak.

"Dad," she chastised him, "you're supporting Krum? What happened to family loyalty?"

"Not to worry kitten," he said and flopped over the end of his scarf to reveal the Hogwarts crest with the lion, snake, raven and badger.

"You're the best, dad," she smiled at him. They headed out the big front doors and down the stone steps with the throng of students heading in the same direction. This time, the bleachers were set along the edge of the large lake on Hogwarts property. Once the crowd was packed to bursting in the stands, Ludo Bagman stood up in front of them. He held his wand to his throat, and suddenly his voice was magnified so all could hear. Bagman seemed nervous as he spoke; his eyes kept shifting about as if he was looking for something.

"Yes, well, it's almost time to begin the second task. As we've just explained to the champions, the Merpeople at the bottom of this lake are holding something very dear to each of them. Something very dear indeed, more valuable than gold galleons, if you can believe that," Bagman explained. At this point, he appeared to begin sweating despite the frigid temperature, because he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "What has been taken from each of the champions is a person – a very close friend, or in one case, a sister." Fleur visibly flinched at this comment. "The champions must rescue their treasure, and only _their_ treasure, within the prescribed time period in order to receive points for this challenge."

Bagman's eyes continued roving back and forth, almost as if he had two of Moody's mad eyes. "Yes, well…" his hand was convulsing inside his pocket, and after a few moments of frantic searching, he pulled out a wadded up piece of paper. "…here, yes, let me read you the clue each of the champions have been given:

"_Come seek us where our voices sound_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this:_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour – the prospect's black,_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back__1_."

Ludo Bagman had read this whole verse with a wide nervous smile, and didn't seem to be paying any attention at all to the words until the crowd gasped at the end. He seemed surprised at this reaction and quickly scanned the wrinkled paper. "Oh, oh, oh no calm down, calm down. You see," he said with a nervous laugh, "The victims, no um, _treasures_ have only been put into a sort of trance. They'll be completely safe until they reach the surface of the water." The crowd gasped again. "Oh, ah, at which point they'll still be safe. Yes, ah, they'll simply regain consciousness at the surface and then be _safely_ escorted to the shore." He wiped his brow again as a chilly wind whipped the stands.

Charity's father said quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, "Bagman really mucked that one up, didn't he?"

Bagman, meanwhile, had lowered his wand from his throat and walked over to the judge's table, where there appeared to be a bit of frantic discussion. Just then, Harry Potter ran up to the table and bent over, gasping for breath. Charity hadn't even realized that there'd only been three champions standing at the ready before. After talking briefly with Potter, Bagman returned to the judges table, placed the wand back at his throat and announced to the crowd,

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle.2" The old glib Bagman was back without a trace of nervousness, "They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One…two…_three_!"3

Exciting as the challenge must have been for the four champions, it was actually quite a boring task to watch from the stands, even with the Aquascopes that the entrepreneurial Fred and George Weasley were selling to the crowd. The Aquascopes were essentially charmed toilet paper rolls that allowed the user to peer beyond the surface of the lake into what was going on below. They didn't penetrate darkness; however, so even observers with the scopes couldn't see anything once the champions fought their way past the grindylows hiding in the seaweed.

"We're working on it," the twins explained to Professor McGonagall when she forced them to give refunds to any complaining customers. Charity and her dad kept theirs.

At least Fleur Delacour provided a good bit of entertainment by becoming ensnared by a particularly vicious pack grindylows in their seaweed forest. She put up a decent fight, but was eventually forced to give it up. Young Harry Potter proved once again to live by his own set of rules. Bagman had been fairly explicit that the champions were to rescue only one victim, yet Potter appeared at the surface with two. He brought up Delacour's sister as well as his own victim - his friend Ron Weasley, Charlie's youngest brother. Most likely, Potter had missed those instructions since he'd come running down to the judges' table only moments before the challenge began. He apparently operated on his own time schedule as well.

Except for Igor Karkaroff, headmaster for Durmstrang, the judges chose to reward Potter's rule breaking and gave him high marks for showing "strength of character." Cedric Diggory had appeared first at the surface, and so received the highest marks overall on this task. Now it was Potter and Diggory tied for first. Karkaroff looked furious. Charity couldn't say she quite blamed him.

After kissing her father goodbye at the castle's front steps, Charity had time to explore a thought that had struck her as she'd watched the champions charm themselves bubble heads, transfigure into sharks and digest magical plants in order to complete the underwater task. Magical people had become so reliant on their magic that they didn't seem to work as hard as did Muggles at mastering basic skills, like swimming. She had vacationed in many Muggle beaches and so had become a good swimmer, but she couldn't really think of a time when she ever saw a group of witches or wizards swim without resorting to some sort of magic. So, she decided to give her students good old-fashioned swimming lessons.

Charity was merciful and waited until the weather warmed up in April before she plunged her students into the lake. It took about that long for Dumbledore to clear it with the Merpeople anyhow. Apparently, he'd already used up a lot of favors with them to secure the lake for the Triwizard challenge; that was one of the things that had put Hogwarts over the top to host the tournament. So, on a warmish April day, Charity led the students into the lake in their brightly-colored Muggle swimsuits, which they had ordered during the previous two weeks' lessons on 'How to Order from Muggle Catalogs.' Of course, she'd had to actually have the merchandise delivered to her parents' home and then forwarded by owl to Hogwarts.

Staying in the muddy shallows, the class first worked on holding their breath and bobbing up and down. That went pretty well, so they next worked on their back floats. A few of the students got the hang of that right away, resulting in whining insistence from the other students that their success was due to a charm they had placed on their swimsuits. The cheaters were immediately exposed when their swimsuits, apparently of their own volition, suddenly flipped the students face first into the water, while the backsides of the suits gasped for air. Nevertheless, most of the students had floating down by the end of that lesson (after a quick de-charming of the suits).

Keeping an eye on all of the students while instructing them on proper floating technique proved to be a greater challenge than Charity had anticipated. While she tried to get Nigel to hold his back stiff and Hannah to relax, some of the other students had unknowingly floated out across the deeper water. Their brightly colored attire must have attracted the giant squid, who apparently thought they were some sort of water toys. His tentacled arms swatted the students up in the air. When they came down, they were plunged deep under the water only to be swatted again, even higher. That section of the lake became a blur of orange, purple and tropical green, punctuated by terrified screams and violent splashes.

Charity and some of the braver students rushed to the edge of the shallows and dragged the squid toys back to shore one by one as they were flung to within their reach. It took a while, but eventually she had all the students safely on shore. As the class stood panting at the side of the lake, Charity could see the disfigured form of Professor Moody in the distance. He had his wand out and it looked like he was laughing. She got the strange feeling that he was responsible for the students drifting out to the deep water in the first place. She didn't dare say a word against him, though; she knew that he was one of Dumbledore's oldest friends, and besides, he was supposed to be leaving Hogwarts after this term, anyhow.

It was far too late for any of the students to hope to make it to their next class, so Charity obtained special permission to use the prefects' pool-sized bathtub for the students to wash off the lake scum and fine tune their floating in a more accommodating environment. A somber ghost of a young girl, who apparently frequented the prefects' bathroom, was thrilled with the company. She floated just above the surface of the water along with the class, until Ernie pointed out that it was easy for her because she was a ghost and didn't weigh anything. At this, she let out a large wail and went zooming up a spout.

Not wanting to inspire another flurry of owls from parents, Charity sent the students into the lake better prepared at the next lesson. This time, they all tramped down on a bright sunny day in Muggle life-vests, snorkels, masks and flippers. They looked at least as strange as half the magical creatures that inhabited the lake. The lake, below the surface, was a wonder to behold. It felt so much more alive and colorful when you were plunged right into it compared to sitting in bleachers trying to view it through Aquascopes. Pale fish floated by, and far off they spotted a gaggle of jewel-toned seahorses.

Everyone avoided the area over the tall seaweed, with the memory of grindylows attacking the Triwizard champions far too fresh in their minds. As they paddled about, Hannah pointed wildly to a round ball of a fish, which seemed to be rolling around in the water, struggling against something. A group of the students and Charity swam in for a closer look and saw that the fish was struggling against its own long legs, which were tied into a knot. Charity and the students bobbed their heads up and spit out their snorkels to discuss.

"It's a Plimpy!" shouted Bridget excitedly.

"What the heck is a Plimpy?" asked Nigel.

"Yes I think you're right, Bridget. It is a Plimpy," said Charity.

"What the heck is a Plimpy?" asked Nigel more loudly.

"Well, this is a Plimpy – a round fish with long rubbery legs. They like to feed on the bottom of lakes, and the Merpeople consider them a nuisance, much like garden gnomes are to us."

"How'd he get his legs all tangled?" asked Charles as he wriggled his pudgy legs underwater, apparently trying to tie them up.

"That's how the Merpeople get rid of them. They tie up their legs, and all the Plimpy can do is drift in the water, trying to untangle them. It can take hours."

"That's mean," said a distraught Bridget, who was dipping the front of her mask into the water, watching the struggling fish.

"Yeah," agreed her best friend, Jessica.

"Let's help him," suggested Hannah, and the three girls put their mouthpieces back in and dove under.

Charles shook his head, muttering, "Girls," and swam off in another direction. Charity stuck close by the girls to keep an eye on them. Their task was made more difficult by the fact that the Plimpy wasn't used to help and kept trying to nip their wrists. They finally met success, and the ungrateful Plimpy swam off toward the bottom of the lake, probably only to return shortly in another tangle.

Charity refocused her attention above the surface to check on the other students. They were splashing around and pointing to various underwater delights, really seeming to enjoy themselves. Charity was just beginning to congratulate herself when she looked back toward the edge of the shallows, where two of the more timid students were lingering, still wary of the giant squid. A large seahorse had approached them with his head and the top part of his torso above the water. He was shorter than the students but very thick and strong looking. He had gentle eyes and was a beautiful, shining blue. The two girls were stroking him, and the seahorse seemed to be encouraging them to come on his back for a ride. The students looked at each other and then threw their legs over him.

Charity wondered what variety of seahorse this was to be so large and so domesticated. She was glad to see it was giving the girls the courage to venture further into the lake. The seahorse headed into deeper water, and his entire body sunk beneath the surface. It looked to Charity as if the two riders were trying to unfasten their life vests.

Just as she was about to yell for them to keep their life vests on, she heard a familiar voice shout, "STUPEFY!" and a streak of sparks shot past her head, coming to within inches of some of the students near her. The sparks were headed straight toward the seahorse, and dipped under the water just before him. Apparently, the curse had hit its mark because the two riding students plunged under the water, but thankfully bobbed back up with their life vests still intact. The seahorse did not fair as well and disappeared from view.

Charity veered around toward the spot from where the sparks had originated and saw Professor Snape standing near the banks of the lake. She was furious and made her way awkwardly to the muddy edge of the lake, where she could stand in the water, and yelled, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU NEARLY HIT MY STUDENTS!"

"Calm down, Professor Burbage. Your students are fine," he called out in a completely even voice.

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" she gasped, still seething. "what about the seahorse? What kind of a sick man attacks gentle creatures for sport? AND IN FRONT OF STUDENTS!"

Snape made his way around the lake and was now much closer to where the seahorse had been. Charity headed to the same spot, making slow progress as her flippers sank into the mud with every step. Snape now pointed his wand towards the water and said, "That was no seahorse."

Charity was fairly close now and gasped as she saw that the creature, which had floated back toward the surface, was indeed not a seahorse. It still had a seahorse-type head, but its features had become fierce, and its body had elongated into something like an eel with short stubby arms equipped with sharp talons. Luckily, it was still stunned and lay incapacitated on its side; its only movement was generated by the gentle sloshing of the lake. Most of the students had already made their way to the shore, and the ones that hadn't were slowly backing in that direction. They all gazed in horror at the menacing-looking creature now floating just below the lake's surface.

"It's a Kelpie," Snape explained. "A shape changer that uses its abilities to lure innocent victims deeper into the lake. Its next move would have been to plunge those students into the depths of the lake and drown them."

Charity stood rock still, staring at the beast in shock at how close these students had come to meeting their doom.

"Surely you warned the students about such creatures before your, er, lesson?" Snape said in his most condescending tone, when it was perfectly obvious she hadn't given any such warning. Her trips to the sea had always been at Muggle beaches along the Mediterranean Sea or Atlantic Ocean. All Muggles needed to watch out for were jelly fish and the occasional shark. It was just dawning on Charity that there was a very good reason that witches and wizards weren't big on swimming.

"Everybody out!" she announced, as if that wasn't exactly what they were already doing, and silently took a head count. She helped the students get wrapped in towels, giving extra attention to the poor girls who'd now been victimized in the lake twice. By the time they were all bundled and started heading back to the castle, Charity saw that Snape was already half way there. She wasn't going to let him get away that easily.

"PROFESSOR SNAPE!" she shouted, her voice sounding strangely gruff, as she'd reached deep into her diaphragm to make herself heard across the sunny grounds. Snape turned around, and now Charity cupped her hands around her mouth to make sure he heard her clearly, "THANK YOU!"

He paused for a few moments, then nodded his head in acknowledgement and continued on to the castle. Now it was her turn to stare silently after him as he walked away. When she turned her focus back onto the students, she saw that, as they trudged along, they were pointing toward the lake and recounting their adventure.

"I _knew_ something wasn't right about that seahorse," announced Charles.

"The Plimpy was so cute!" exclaimed Jessica and Bridget.

"Looks like we learned about a lot more than just Muggles today," Charity pointed out. "Professor Hagrid has a whole term's worth of lessons right there in that lake, doesn't he?"

When they reached the spot where Snape had been standing when he issued the curse, some of the boys mimicked him, saying things like, "Stupefy!" and "That was awesome!"

"I didn't know you could shoot underwater spells from the shore," said Hannah.

"Usually underwater spells can only be originated underwater," Charity explained. "Only a very skilled and powerful wizard can start a spell above water that will maintain its full power beneath the surface."

The spell had most definitely maintained all of its strength, because the Kelpie was still lying motionless. Charity looked again towards the skilled and powerful wizard as he disappeared behind the great oak doors. She wondered why he wasn't teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, a post she'd heard he was keen on. She didn't think to wonder why he'd been down by the lake in the first place.

1 Text is exact quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling p.463

2 Ibid, p. 493

3 Ibid


	6. The Final Task

Chapter 6

The Final Task

End of year exams seemed to sneak up on students and teachers alike. The objective for all students making their way through Hogwarts, or any school of magic for that matter, was to achieve as many Ordinary Wizarding Levels, O.W.L.s, and Naturally Exhausting Wizarding Tests, N.E.W.T.s, as possible. O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are certifications which indicate a wizard's or witch's expertise in various aspects of magic. Students take exams for these certifications beginning in their fifth year, and all coursework is designed to improve the students' abilities to achieve several O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. levels. Muggle Studies played very little role in either type of exam, as such, testing in Charity's subject was not as closely examined as it was for others.

The first part of Charity's end-of-year exams consisted of a Muggle fashion show, whereby students came to the exam dressed as Muggle students. Charles scored high marks for his button down, oxford shirt, with points deducted for his rubber hip boots. Jessica and Bridget showed up in matching purple pajamas and bunny slippers, which they'd colored partly black to match Bnickel's markings (Charity had to mull over exactly how many brownie points they'd get for those). Ernie Macmillan hit the nail on the head with his white polo shirt, crisp khaki knickers, and brown leather loafers; however, it would be difficult for Charity to overlook the hot pink feather boa that topped it all off.

After the last exam they all headed out to the Quidditch pitch for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. It no longer looked like a Quidditch pitch at all. A shrub maze had been grown there, with hedges twenty feet tall. The champions were to race each other through the maze to the center, fighting off obstacles of varying danger along the way. They were released into the maze at staggered intervals based on total points after the first two tasks. Diggory and Potter were tied for first and would be the first to enter, followed by Krum a few minutes later, and Delacour last of all. At the center of the maze was the Triwizard Cup. The first champion to reach the cup would be the grand winner.

Despite the high rising stands, which towered over the maze, it was difficult for the spectators to see exactly what was going on within the enormous shrub walls. Every once in a while Charity would catch some rustling in the bushes or a flash from a spell emanating from someone's wand. The Weasley twins were not selling any type of scope or other helpful device to aid in seeing through the bushes. Possibly this was because such a device was beyond their current capabilities, but more than likely it was because their mother was present. She'd come in lieu of Potter's parents, along with the families of the other champions. Charity remembered how Mrs. Weasley had gotten after the two boys after the Zonko's Zapper incident and didn't blame them for not wanting to give her reason to come after them again.

Charity was a bit reluctant herself to go say hello to Mrs. Weasley. Although Charity and Charlie Weasley had never seriously dated, Charity had apparently made quite a good impression on Mrs. Weasley at the one dinner she'd had at her home. According to Charlie, his mother was still put out that Charity had later accepted the invitation to the Hogwarts dance from one of Charlie's friends. This had all seemed very funny when Charlie'd told her about it a few months ago in Hogsmeade, not quite so funny when the overprotective witch was within striking distance.

Charity's thoughts were pulled back to the competition when red sparks shot up from a section of the maze not too far from the center. This was the signal the champions were to give if they were in trouble and needed rescuing. Everyone was surprised when Hagrid, one of the teachers patrolling the maze, emerged carrying Krum. He'd actually been the favorite to win, even with his delayed start. Karkaroff, looking extremely pale, rushed to Krum and accompanied him out of the stands. The odds had considerably improved for a Hogwarts victory, and the crowd became very excited.

"My money's been with Cedric all the way!" exclaimed an elated Professor Sprout next to Charity. She was head of Diggory's house. The prospect of impending glory for Hufflepuff was evident in Sprout's glowing face. Her frizzy grey hair and patched hat bobbed excitedly as she tried in vain to get a better look at what was going on in the maze. Hardworking, loyal Hufflepuffs, although well liked throughout the school, rarely found themselves in the limelight. A victory now would finally bring them some well-deserved recognition. Charity was rooting for the Hufflepuffs as well.

"C'mon Cedric," she said anxiously to herself.

The remaining champions had to be getting close now. A giant spider could be seen crawling over the hedge very near the center. Had one of the champions gotten that far? Its pincers raised high in the air, and Charity saw what looked like the top of someone's head in the spider's grip. It looked like black hair; that could be Potter or Diggory. A few moments later the giant spider quickly sunk from view. It would all be over in moments, and the agitated crowd began chanting the name of their favored champion.

"Harry – Harry – Harry," mixed with "Cedric – Cedric – Cedric," echoed throughout the stands. Not to be outdone, Madame Maxime stood up, blocking out many of the chants with her bulk, and bellowed "Fleur – Fleur – Fleur," along with the small contingent of Beauxbatons students.

The chants went on and on but nothing new happened. It was taking too long. Something was wrong. Had the spider finished the champions off before they were able to shoot off their sparks? Were they all helplessly lying in the maze? The chanting faded, then completely died away as these thoughts dawned on everyone. The patrolling professors finally rushed into the maze. Dumbledore could be seen pacing near the entrance. Professor McGonagall soon emerged with Fleur Delacour who appeared to be just regaining consciousness. The Beauxbatons contingent rushed to her.

No one else was coming out. This was taking _way_ too long. Urgent whispers began to spread throughout the crowd and rising panic was evident in the eyes of every student. Professor Sprout rushed down to Dumbledore to see what she could do. Charity elected to stay back with the students in the stands.

"Professor Burbage, what's happening?"; "Shouldn't they be out by now?" the frightened students asked as they huddled around her. She put her arms around as many of them as she could.

"I don't know exactly what's happening," she would truthfully answer. "I'm sure it's all going to be fine," she'd then lie.

After what seemed like hours, there was new movement at the entrance of the maze. The champions were back! Their appearance was met by a burst of cheers, but upon closer inspection, the crowd realized that something _was_ wrong. Neither of the boys was moving. Through the increasing blur of frantically moving bodies, Charity saw Dumbledore flip one of the boys over; it was Potter, who stirred slightly. He was clutching Diggory and didn't seem to want to let go. As Dumbledore was quietly talking to him, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, who'd come to judge this final challenge, approached them and suddenly shouted,

"He's dead!"

Fudge's exclamation sent shouts and screams cascading through the crowd. Charity lost sight of anything that wasn't happening right in front of her as several students rushed towards the field, while others merely stood still and sobbed. At last Cornelius Fudge, wand to his throat, addressed the crowd in a stern tone and told them all to calm down and have a seat in the stands. It was as if they'd all been waiting for someone to tell them what to do because everyone obeyed immediately. The field was now cleared, with Dumbledore, Potter, McGonagall, Moody and Snape nowhere in sight. Madame Pomfrey could be seen making her way to the castle with a stretcher; its occupant was covered in a white sheet. She was followed by Professor Sprout who looked like she was trying to support a very distraught man and woman, whom Charity could only assume were Diggory's parents.

Fudge spoke to the crowd, "Tragedy has once again cursed the Triwizard Tournament. Your fellow student, Cedric Diggory, has died." It's what they'd all been screaming about moments ago, but it was jarring, nevertheless, to hear Fudge announce it with such finality. A new wave of stifled sobs broke out. "I assure you, the Ministry will thoroughly investigate the matter, and whoever is responsible for this tragedy will be duly punished. Now, if I may ask the remaining Hogwarts staff to assist the students in an orderly fashion back to their dorms." Between Professors Burbage, Flitwick, Hagrid, Vector, and Sinistra, and the house prefects, the students were organized in house lines and led back to the dorms.

Charity went with the Hufflepuffs down to their dormitory. She had never been there before and followed the head prefect. The line of Hufflepuff students continued down a long wide corridor, past the entrance to the kitchens, as if in a trance. The head prefect stopped at a window. As Charity looked out at the clear sky, studded with thousands of shining stars, she wondered how such a tragic evening could be so remarkably beautiful. Then she remembered that they were underground.

"Good evening," the prefect said to the window, which slid open, and they all crawled through into the Hufflepuff common room. Charity followed the last student in. She expected Professor Sprout would be busy for some time with the Diggorys, so she stayed with the students until their head of house returned.

The Hufflepuff common room struck Charity as a giant flower. There was a large circular open area in the middle surrounded by seven smaller alcoves that curved out like petals. The walls were a soft, sunny yellow and several round white tables and chairs were grouped in the center area. Two of the alcoves looked like entryways to the girls' and boys' dorms, while each of the others was populated with colorful cushy chairs and a small fireplace. The whole scene was quite cheery, and may have gone a long way towards comforting them all if the first thing they laid eyes on hadn't been a large canary- yellow cake setting on a table in the middle of the common room. On top of the cake was a small figurine of a black-haired wizard with his wand outstretched. In large letters, around the sides of each layer, the huge cake read:

Cedric

Diggory

Our Champion & Hero

The entirety of the Hufflepuff house and Charity stopped dead in their tracks, looking only at the huge black words. After a brief moment of complete silence, a torrent of wails and sobs ensued as they all broke down. Even Charity, who had managed to keep herself pulled together for the sake of the students until now, completely lost it and sank to her knees, clinging to whoever was next to her, a flood of tears taking over. The entire world had changed for these students since they'd last left this room.

Amidst her sadness, Charity felt traces of anger. She was angry with Dumbledore, with everyone who had decided bring the tournament back. They knew it was dangerous, that students had died in the past, yet they just couldn't leave it. She was fed up with wizards and witches who felt the need to flaunt their magic. '_Greater unity between the schools my arse!_' she thought, 'W_hy couldn't they just have a Yule Ball and leave it at that. No, we had to pit our students, children, against one another to see who has the biggest wand!_'

As Charity wrestled with her thoughts, the sobs in the room slowed to sporadic sniffles. She looked around and saw that many of the students were moving to and from the cake table. Several small candles flickered on the table around various objects that the students had brought there, and were continuing to bring. Cedric's Quidditch Captain's robe lay across the front of the table. On top of it sat a golden snitch, probably from one of his victorious games. Several framed O.W.L. certificates also littered the table. The students' faces were determined as they built this makeshift memorial to Cedric. It was a marvelous example of the resilient human spirit that won't stay down long, lying in the dirt bleeding, but instead finds a way to heal itself.

One of the older students, a tall blonde boy who Charity had often seen palling around the corridors with Cedric, came down with his Bible opened. He stood in front of the table, while the other students and Charity gathered around him, some sitting with their hands folded, others kneeling, as he read in a slightly shaky voice:

"_What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him_.1"

When he finished reading, he focused his tear-filled gaze upward and said, "Good for you Ced, good for you."

Professor Sprout came back just before midnight with swollen red eyes, and coaxed the students up to bed. She and Charity stayed in the common room. They sat on the cushy chairs in one of the alcoves, curled under blankets. The alcove was now lit only by the glow from candles still flickering on Cedric's memorial. Occasionally, they would respond to a yell or scream issuing from a student's restless dream, but mostly they sat together in the dark room, speaking in hushed tones as Professor Sprout updated Charity on what had been happening in the castle during the past few hours.

"We've been teaching with Barty Crouch Jr. this whole school year!" whispered Sprout urgently.

"What can you mean? Crouch…isn't he with the Ministry? He was a judge at the first task."

"That was Crouch senior. He's dead now, they're saying the junior killed him!" At this, Charity gasped loudly and covered her mouth, hoping she didn't wake any students.

"We've been teaching with a murderer? But why did I never meet him?" Charity asked.

"Because he attacked Alastor Moody right before school started and has been disguising himself as Professor Moody ever since by using the Polyjuice potion." Charity's eyes widened in disbelief and Sprout continued, "Severus noticed a while back that he was missing some of his stores – key ingredients for the potion. He figured it was a student playing some kind of prank. None of us ever considered it was Moody, er, Crouch Jr."

"But why did he do it?" asked Charity, growing more fearful and more confused by the minute.

"Completely off his rocker, that one. He fell in with some Death Eaters a while back and landed himself in prison. Everyone thought he'd died in Azkaban." She eyed Charity now and said, "You would have been just a little girl then, so you won't remember…well, that whole thing's a story for another time. The point is, see, he's not dead and had some crazy idea that he was serving You-Know-Who by posing as Moody and causing all kinds of hijinks here." She looked at Charity significantly, with tiny flames reflected in her eyes, and said, "He's the one who entered Potter in the tournament."

To hear You-Know-Who and Potter mentioned in such close succession sent a cold current up Charity's spine. She could vaguely remember that day when she was a young girl, and the entire wizarding community was caught up in the story of how Lord Voldemort had met his doom. All Charity understood at the time was that Voldemort was a really bad, scary guy and if you said his name out loud, you'd grow hairy warts all over your nose. The story went that Voldemort had murdered James and Lily Potter, a young but very well respected couple in the wizarding community, and that he'd tried to kill their baby son as well, but somehow little Harry had escaped. No one had heard from Voldemort since, so it was presumed that he'd somehow either died or lost all of his powers that night. Rumors often surfaced that he'd been spotted somewhere or other. Charity'd even heard a few rumors that put him at Hogwarts after Harry Potter had arrived, too tempting of a connection she supposed. She personally liked to joke that she was sure she'd just seen what's-his-face having bangers and mash with Elvis at the local pub.

"But you said Crouch Jr. is completely nuts, right?"

"Yes...but…well…," Sprout glanced at Charity, then away, clearly deciding how much she should share.

"Pomona!" Charity said in a harsh whisper. "Don't clam up on me now! I'm a professor too, you know. Don't you think I ought to know just as much as everyone else?"

"OKAY dear – but don't say I didn't warn you." After another moments' hesitation, she spoke again, but this time in such a low voice that Charity had to lean in close to hear her, so close that she could feel Professor Sprout's warm and slightly dilly-scented breath on her face as she spoke, "The Potter boy is backing up his story. He says the Triwizard trophy was a Port-Key that transported him and Diggory," (there was a slight tremble to Sprout's voice when she said his name) "to a grave yard where You-Know-Who killed Diggory and used Potter's blood to bring back all of his old powers."

"No," Charity said very quietly with a mix of wonder and dread.

Sprout nodded her head sadly and said, "Well, Fudge isn't having any of it. I suppose all we can do for now is wait and see how things shake out between him and Dumbledore." This left very little to say, and the two professors settled back in their chairs. The silence that then filled the room was more conducive to their own private thoughts than it was to sleep.

In the very early hours, just before the first faint glow of sunlight, Professor Sprout convinced Charity to return to her own room for some sleep. Charity gave Bnickel a carrot and then collapsed on her bed. She only slept for a few hours, but managed to miss breakfast by the time she awoke. She still had time to catch the students before they left for the summer, so she dressed quickly and rushed down to the entryway to give those that would allow it one last hug. She packed herself up soon after, and headed home to her parents' quiet Victorian house on a quiet wizard street in the middle of a quiet Muggle neighborhood to chew over the recent events and try to make sense of it all.

1 1 Corinthians 2:9


	7. A New Year

Chapter 7

A New Year

Charity returned to her second year as a Hogwarts professor after spending a good portion of her summer holidays in America. While there, she and her parents had visited Salem, Massachusetts, sight of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. Quite hilarious really, seeing that as far as anyone knew, witches and wizards did not appear in America until the late 1800s. Unlike the Muggles, magical people were not under monarchy rule at that time and had had very little reason to uproot their families and leave their homes, especially considering that the group of people relocating to America was the very type to burn witches.

Charity returned from her travels with gifts from the Salem Witch Museum and Gift Store for each of the Hogwarts teachers. She gave them out as they gathered in the somewhat moldy staff lounge for their beginning of the year faculty meeting.

"For you Professor Sinistra," she said as she handed the Astronomy professor a zodiac wall hanging.

Sinistra seemed genuinely pleased, and commented with surprise, "Why, those Muggles have almost got it right!" as she studied the woven map of the stars.

"Magical Beans for you Professor Sprout – they're supposed to grow bean stalks to three times their normal size."

Sprout shook the package saying, "I'll bet I can get them up to ten!"

Charity gave a mug with the words 'Stop by for a Spell' to Professor Flitwick, an East Coast Witches T-shirt to Madam Hooch, the Quidditch coach, and a stuffed black cat to Professor McGonagall. Charity was pleased to see all three pop up later in the year on Flitwick's desk, Madam Hooch's person and propped next to books on McGonagall's office shelves.

For Hagrid, she brought a pewter Pocket Dragon with crystals embedded in the eyes; Muggles said it brought good luck. Unfortunately, Hagrid was not to be found. Professor Grubbley-Plank was taking over Care of Magical Creatures lessons for an unspecified amount of time, and no explanation for Hagrid's absence was given. Charity hoped it didn't have anything to do with the awful article Rita Skeeter had published earlier in the year about Hagrid being half giant. At least Charity could take satisfaction in the fact that the horrid reporter had apparently been canned; she hadn't seen one article from her all summer. Charity pocketed Hagrid's dragon and would make a point of getting it to him one way or another.

Turning to Sibyll Trelawney, professor of Divination and all things clairvoyant, Charity said, "I'll bet you already know what this is."

"Of course, my dear, and it's just exactly what I knew you would choose," Trelawney replied in her misty voice as she opened her box to find a fortune-telling tea cup, complete with instructions painted right on the saucer. Trelawney looked as if she was trying to decide whether or not this was an insult, while McGonagall sniggered in the corner.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you," Charity said to Snape, who appeared to be getting impatient with the whole production. She handed him a small box, which he opened to reveal a silver and glass ring. Inside the glass was a thick liquid.

"It's a mood ring," she explained. "You wear it and it changes color depending on what kind of mood you're in. I thought it might be useful for us to know when it would be a good time to approach you and when it would be a good time to, eh, _not_." This comment drew general chuckles in the room, and Charity caught and held Snape's eye for the briefest second. This was the year she was going to make good on her promise to make him like her.

The final gift was for Dumbledore. It was a liquid-filled ball point pen with a little witch on a broom, which glided when you tilted it. He appeared delighted, and chuckled as he tilted the pen back and forth, watching the little witch fly to and fro, before he said, "Thank you Professor Burbage for that delightful start to the school year. Now, down to business."

Part of that business was the assignment of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who would be joining them in just a few days. Doloris Umbridge was coming from the Ministry of Magic, and, it seemed, was to maintain her connection with that entity while teaching at Hogwarts. It was a very unusual situation. The Minister of Magic seemed to think that Dumbledore's sanity was slipping because the headmaster supported young Harry Potter's assertion that Lord Voldemort had returned to power. Fudge let everyone know, in no uncertain terms, that this story was simply not true. Apparently, the Wizengamut and the International Confederation of Wizards agreed, because they had both expelled Dumbledore from their ranks over the summer. Dumbledore was quirky, to be sure, but Charity and all the other professors at Hogwarts had complete confidence in his sanity. As far as Potter's story…well, Charity personally tended to think that perhaps stress had finally gotten to the poor boy. The pressure of the tournament alone was enough to push any fourteen-year-old over the edge, but to see one of his fellow champions die right in front of him! Charity couldn't imagine the horror. Add to that the fact that he'd been orphaned as a baby, when both of his parents had been murdered, and it was no wonder that he'd revert to visions of Voldemort when something traumatic happened.

Charity didn't think that Dumbledore was daft to believe the story. Most likely, his intention was for everyone to be prepared for the worst, just in case. Even if Voldemort hadn't risen that night at the tournament, as Potter claimed, there were all those rumors that what's-his-face was still lying in wait, searching for a way to return. Besides, Dumbledore was a tremendously kind man, and Potter seemed to be a favorite of his; he simply wouldn't let the boy twist in the wind alone with this outrageous story.

There was another, less flattering, theory regarding why Dumbledore supported the boy's story. Charity's father had come home from work one day with gossip he'd heard around the office. Apparently, Fudge thought that Dumbledore was after the Ministry's top job, and so wanted to spread fear throughout the Wizarding community in order to throw support away from Fudge and onto himself. While growing up, Charity had heard her father comment more than once that Dumbledore had once seemed to be on the lightning track to become Minister of Magic. Nobody really knew why he'd veered off that track and headed for Hogwarts instead. Had he recently had a change of heart? At any rate, that's what the Ministry thought, and that's probably why Doloris Umbridge was now headed for the school - to keep close tabs on Dumbledore.

Enrollment in Muggle Studies had dropped to only ten students for that year. Charity couldn't help but wonder why. Was she really that bad of a teacher? She found out the reason behind the decline when she ran into Jessica Bellwith in the hallway.

"Welcome back Miss Bellwith," Charity said brightly.

"Hi Professor," Jessica responded, with her big brown eyes downcast. "Professor, I…I wanted to take Muggle Studies again, but my mum…" she said as she started tearing up, "..my mum wouldn't let me. She says Muggles are the last thing I should be studying with all the rumors about You-Know-Who flying around. I mean, she isn't sure she believes any of them or anything, but…but what if…"

So that was it. Of course, she should have known. Charity thought back to how angry and frightened the parents had been after the essays last winter - and that was before anyone was claiming that what's-his-face had returned to full power. The evil wizard had had many dark goals during his reign of terror, but his highest priority seemed to be to torture and kill Muggle-borns and wreak havoc in the Muggle world. The last thing he'd want to see would be young witches and wizards learning about and accepting Muggle culture; therefore, it was only natural that magical people would distance themselves from any association with Muggles amidst the rumors of Voldemort's return.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," Charity said, putting a reassuring hand on Jessica's shoulder. "Your mum's just looking out for you. That's what mum's do."

"Professor, what about you? If you keep teaching about Muggles…aren't you worried about You-Know-Who?"

"Listen, the Ministry of Magic has assured us that the rumors are only that – rumors. But if what's-his-face does come back and wants to take my class, well then, he's welcome to sit in like anyone else," Charity said as she gave Jessica a wink and continued down the hall.

Charity was tremendously proud of the ten brave students that signed up for her class despite the undercurrent of fear. Charles was back, along with Bridget, and Nigel. A handful of third years also joined them this year. After teaching the students all she had learned about early Muggles in America, Charity took the class back to the Hogwarts kitchens for a lesson on baking without magic. She'd gotten the idea for the lesson when she came across an ancient cookbook in the library titled '_Baking Without Magic_.' She'd been surprised to see it among all of the books full of magical and mystical ways. She had to treat it gingerly, because the old binding was cracked, and the yellow pages threatened to fall out at the smallest gust of air. She'd gently brushed the dust from the cover and automatically opened to a recipe for Triple Chocolate Layer cake since the page had been dog-eared. There were several crusty stains on the page and a faded star that someone had drawn a long time ago, so she felt certain this recipe must have been an old favorite of someone's. Charity was all for learning from others' experience, so she decided to look no further in deciding what the class would bake.

The elves were more receptive than they had been at the class's last field trip to the kitchens, because this field trip entailed loads of extra work for them. The house elves lugged out heavy bags of flour, carefully balanced cartons of eggs, and ran back to the cupboards every time Charity realized she'd forgotten an ingredient.

"These are called measuring cups," Charity explained, while she held up metal cups marked with number on their handles. "They are for measuring dry ingredients. These," she now held up small glass pitchers with lines and numbers along the side, "are for measuring liquids. We are going to use them to measure our ingredients, so I hope at least some of you know something about Arithmancy."

A special oven had to be brought in for the lesson because, of course, house elves had no need of such things. Charity had to break her own Muggle Rules again and use magic to heat the oven since there was no electricity in the castle. Students and elves alike watched the enchanted red element at the bottom of the oven heat up. Then the rest of the kitchen heated up, while a fog of flour and cocoa filled the air.

While partnered with Laura Nottingsly, a third year in Gryffindor, to whisk the dry ingredients, Charles, who was in Ravenclaw, asked her, "So, what's the drama with Potter these days?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Laura answered him stiffly.

"Aw, come on - your big Triwizard hero. You're not telling me he's actually going to just quietly go to class like the rest of us lowly students, are ya?"

Nigel, also a Gryffindor, said, "Ignore him Laura, he's just jealous that no one ever takes the time to notice what smelly old Charles Whitney's doing."

Charity felt she should step in to stop the squabble, but was curious to see what the students really thought about the Potter situation. She'd read the articles all summer in the Daily Prophet. The wizard newspaper definitely painted the Potter boy as something of an egotistical show-off. From the little contact she'd personally had with him, he didn't strike her as the arrogant type so she put more weight on her own, more sympathetic, theories as to why he came up with these stories. On the other hand…the Potter boy did seem to get away with a lot more than did the other students, naturally some of them would become resentful after a while.

The argument ended over the excitement of egg cracking. The students took turns learning the technique, and, thankfully, the elves were very quick at cleaning spilled yolks with a snap of their fingers. It took so many tries to master the art of egg-cracking that Charity had to send an elf out for more eggs. When he came back, he slipped on a patch of freshly spilled vegetable oil. Charity nearly whipped out her wand to save the eggs, but didn't want to break her own Muggle Rules twice in one lesson, so merely winced as the eggs smashed and oozed all over the floor. The House Elves snapped away and the mess was cleaned up in a few minutes, but during that time, the elf who'd slipped made a run for the hot oven. It took a good quarter of an hour for the students to pry his boney fingers from the appliance, in which he was desperately trying to burn off his own head as punishment for the mishap.

When the rich, brown batter was finally all mixed together, Charles was at again. He dipped a finger into the chocolate, and drew a lightning scar on his forehead. Harry Potter had been left with such a scar after his incident with Voldemort when he was a baby.

"Look at me! Look at me!" Charles shouted in a mocking voice. Then he threw the back of his hand to his forehead and said dramatically, "Oh, I've got the vapors. Please rush over and give me lots of attention," and fell to the floor. Charity noted that about half the students laughed while the other half glared maliciously at Charles.

The Ministry of Magic, meanwhile, was working through Doloris Umbridge to weed out what they saw as unsavory practices at Hogwarts. Teaching students about Muggles was likely at the top of their list of such practices. The Ministry was not so much anti-Muggle as anti-Dumbledore, and since Dumbledore was a well known proponent of wizard-Muggle relations, the Ministry would correspondingly want to squash them. Charity had been forewarned that Umbridge was making her rounds to observe classes under the guise of keeping course content "up to snuff." It was a thinly-veiled attempt to get rid of those subjects and teachers the Ministry didn't like. Professor Trelawney had already been put on probation by the time Charity fully understood the implications.

When the Pink Devil (the teacher's secret nickname for Umbridge, since she always wore the most revolting shade of pink) strolled into Muggle Studies, with her too-big-to-be-real smile, Charity was prepared. As the squat woman stood poised at the back of the classroom with her pen and clipboard at the ready, Charity asked the class,

"How many Muggles does it take to work a Deluminator?"

"One?" said a skinny third year, Lucas Snively, in an apparently earnest attempt to get the answer right.

"300!" chimed in Charles Whitney.

"Answer: None, they keep trying to light their cigarettes with it!" Charity said and paused, listening to the few tentative chuckles. It was a pretty lame joke. Then she said, "Now, that can't be the only Muggle joke you've ever heard," and looked around.

"No," a few of the students said quietly, a bit unsure about where this was going.

"My dad knows like a million of them," Charles announced proudly.

"Well, let's hear one."

"Really?" Young Whitney looked surprised but thrilled. Charity nodded, and he stood up and took the stage:

"Two Muggles were trying to unlock their car with a coat hanger. The first Muggle said, 'I can't seem to get this door open.' The second Muggle said, 'Well, you better hurry up – it's starting to rain and the top is down!'" Charles beamed when the class laughed.

"Anyone else?"

"Oooh, ooh, ooh," said most of the rest of the class with their hands raised; they seemed to be encouraged by the warm response to Charles' joke, and Charity called on them one by one. She noticed that Charlotte, a rather sensitive third year in Hufflepuff, looked upset while Lora Nottingsly explained to the class how to tell the difference between a Muggle and a Snorkack. She discreetly made her way over to the girl, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"What do Muggle owls say?"asked Nigel Lumpkin with a wide grin on his freckled face. "What? What?" he answered, then giggled loudly at his own joke.

Umbridge seemed to be having the time of her life. The smile on her flabby face actually looked genuine as she scribbled happily on her clipboard. She even told a rather off-color Muggle joke in her faux-girlish voice before leaving the room. (Charity found out later that Umbridge was so pleased with the class that she'd signed a decree making Muggle Studies a required course for all third years, starting the following September.) Once Charity was sure that Umbridge was far enough down the hall, she closed the door and returned to the head of the class.

"Well students, we've just spent the better part of an hour talking about how stupid Muggles are," she said. She let this sink in and then made her point, "Do you see how difficult it's going to be for Muggles to ever be accepted into our society as equals, when we have literally," at this she held up a thick book titled Bippity Bopp's Big Book of Stupid Muggle Jokes, "written volumes about how inferior they are to us magical types?" She winked at Charlotte who looked gratified.


	8. Mr Weasley

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mr. Weasley

In early December, Charity found Snape in the staff lounge and asked him if he could help her with some potions. He told her he could give her twenty minutes that evening at 20:00. Charity had a bit of trouble navigating the dungeons, where his office was located, and so arrived a few minutes late. After plopping her heavy box onto his desk with a clank, she instinctively pointed her wand to his fireplace and ignited a fire to warm up the cold, grey space. The flame-light flickered and bounced off the collection of jars lining the walls. She tried not to look at their contents.

"What is it you need Professor Burbage?" Snape asked in his most unfriendly tone. Apparently there was to be no tea.

"I am having trouble with a few simple potions," she said, pulling small, corked bottles out of her box. Each of the bottles contained a liquid, which was either clear or muddy brown in color.

"Perhaps you should enroll in my class next term," he said in all seriousness.

"Ha, ha," Charity responded lightly. "These potions are fine – they do exactly what they're supposed to do, but I was hoping you could show me how to make them more attractive."

"Attractive?"

"Yes. I was thinking of a pale pink color with maybe a few sparkles in this clear one, and a translucent blue for this, well, dirt-colored one."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"Oh, I'm giving them as gifts, and as you know, presentation is everything!" Snape responded with a somewhat fierce look, which seemed to indicate that he very much wanted to hurl her out one of his windows. Lucky for Charity, he had none down here in the dungeon.

Taking a more practical tone, she added, "I've tried changing the appearance myself, but every time I add a new element the effect of the potion changes."

"Potions 101, _Professor_ Burbage. Are you sure you don't want to sign up for my class?"he drawled in his deep monotone.

"Well, aren't you the cheeky one. Honestly, Severus, you act as if I don't know the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood."

"There is no diff-" Snape started, but he stopped short when he saw Charity's playful smile.

Afraid that he was truly going to run out of patience with her, Charity switched to an approach that always worked with her father. "Oh please Severus! You're the expert. Will you please, please just show me how to do it?" Whether it was her pleading, bright eyes that did it or just the fact that he wanted her far away from him as soon as possible, she didn't know, but Snape finally agreed to help her.

As he selected various jars and tubes from the shelves of his store cupboard, Charity took the opportunity to ask something she'd been wondering about for a while. "Would these potions have the same effect on Muggles as they do on wizards and witches?" she asked in a way that she hoped sounded offhanded. Snape poked his hooked nose out of the store cupboard.

"Professor Burbage, you're not planning on giving these potions to Muggles are you?" he asked sternly.

She laughed lightly and said, "Oh, heavens no. These are Christmas gifts for my students." Under her breath she added, "No telling what _they_ might do with them, though."

"Students?" Snape said, looking appalled and suspicious at the same time.

"Well, there's only the ten of them after all," Charity explained, and Snape returned to rifle through the cupboard. She took a chance and trudged on, "I wonder, though, what would be the harm if the potions _did_ find themselves in Muggle hands? I mean, it's just a harmless mix to give sparkle to the girls' hair and a deodorizing blend to keep the boys smelling fresh after an active Quidditch workout -- that one's a gift for all of us really."

Snape returned to his desk with an armful of ingredients and said sternly, "The harm would be that the magical world would be exposed if Muggles were suddenly drinking our potions and sparkling around town."

"Oh, I know. I'm not talking about it in the context of how the world is today. I'm thinking more philosophically. I mean, think about it - if potions have the same effect on Muggles as they do on us, then this can be the great unifying factor! This could be the one branch of magic that Muggles and wizards can share in equally."

Snape's forehead creased between his sheets of black hair as he appeared to consider this. He didn't seem to like the idea, but he didn't argue her point either. Instead, he merely said, "It's getting late and I'm sure you'd like to be well rested for your class tomorrow." After a brief pause, he added dryly, "Presentation is everything you know."

Snape worked quickly and smoothly. He precisely measured ingredients and added them to the potions one-by-one, swirling and examining the bottles after each addition. Charity found herself mesmerized while watching his expert hands give just the right dash of this and drop of that. Although not skilled at potions herself, she could see that Snape was truly a master of the art. She couldn't help but be impressed. She didn't even find his arrogance altogether unappealing anymore, now that it seemed to be so well founded.

The following week, Charity brought in a guest speaker to class – Arthur Weasley from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office of the Ministry of Magic. Charlie Weasley had graciously asked his father to get in touch with Charity if he'd be able to help her out with a presentation. Mr. Weasley had four children currently at Hogwarts, all Gryffindors: Fred and George, the two jokers; Ron, who was best friends with Harry Potter; and Ginny, the youngest and only daughter. He also had three older sons, including Charlie, who had already graduated from Hogwarts. Charity had only been a teenager when she'd last seen Mr. Weasley and still couldn't bring herself to call him Arthur rather than Mr. Weasley.

She remembered him as a wonderfully kind man, who had been more fascinated with Muggles than anyone else Charity knew. Strangely, this deep fascination had never seemed to translate into a deep understanding of Muggles. Mr. Weasley was in charge of locating and either setting right or repossessing Muggle objects that had been tampered with magically. Knowing what Muggle objects were and were not supposed to do was essential to his job. He dealt with Muggles on a daily basis, adjusting their memories and sometimes posing as a Muggle to extract the offending objects. Charity thought it would be interesting for the students to learn about a potential Muggle-related career.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," she greeted him brightly when he entered the classroom ahead of the students.

"Why hello, Miss - oh excuse me it's _Professor_ now – Burbage," he said warmly, shaking her hand. Arthur Weasley was a tall man with thinning hair, which was every bit as red as Charlie's. His manner was not quite as lighthearted as Charity had remembered, and he looked very tired, which made her feel guilty about having him make the trip all the way up here.

"Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to do this," she told him earnestly.

"Not at all, not at all. Turns out I needed to make a trip to Hogwarts anyhow," Mr. Weasley answered kindly.

"How is Charlie? Still studying dragons in Romania?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. Still keeping his poor mum up late at nights worrying," he said humbly, but Charity could see he was immensely proud of his son.

"As long as he's still as quick as he was in his Quidditch days, I'm sure it's the dragons' mums who need to worry."

Mr. Weasley chuckled as he set down his bag on her desk. "Tell _that_ to Molly."

Just then, the students came filing in. "Right then," Charity said, "I'm just going to introduce you, and then the rest of the class is yours."

As Mr. Weasley was about to start his presentation, Professor Umbridge showed up, with that hideous smile plastered to her face, and waddled to the front of the room, handing him a piece of paper. "Don't want to forget this now," she sang in her girlish voice. She then stood sentry at the back of the room to make sure he read it.

"Please bear with me students, while I read this missive from the Ministry of Magic:

"M.O.M. Rules and Regulations 301 Section 12: Re: Muggle Artifacts. Magical tampering with Muggle artifacts is strictly prohibited and any wizard or witch found enchanting, charming, transfiguring or otherwise magically altering common Muggle items will face up to 10 years confinement in Azkaban Prison. It is the official position of M.O.M. that magical peoples are to maintain as little contact as possible with Muggles."

When Mr. Weasley finished, he shot Umbridge an angry look and said, "Doloris, I don't remember ever seeing or approving this last sentence."

"Yes, well, you've been busy in other matters, and the Ministry doesn't wait to improve the rules and regulations," she said cheerily.

He was still glaring at Umbridge when she turned her smile on Charity. Umbridge gave an uncharacteristicly growlish sort of laugh and said, in a voice rather deeper than usual, "I've got a good one for you about two Muggles and a Warlock."

"Oh, well, wonderful. You'll have to tell me that one at dinner tonight," Charity said, forcing a smile onto her own face and leading Umbridge to the door. When she turned back to Mr. Weasley, he was giving her a confused look. She waved her hand as if to say 'I'll explain later.' Aloud she said, "Please continue, Mr. Weasley."

"Yes, well, now that we have that out of the way," he said as he pulled out a cork board and a box of small golden thumb tacks. "Lack of magical powers is far from debilitating to Muggles. On the contrary – it forces them to use their brainpower to figure out how to do many of the things that we take for granted. For example," he said, holding up the bulletin board and looking at the class as if he expected them to break out into applause. Instead, the class merely stared blankly at him and the board.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Everyone's hand shot into the air, and Mr. Weasley, looking slightly crestfallen, called on Megan Shippers in the front row. "It's a memo board, Mr. Weasley," she told him.

"Yes, yes, quite right. Have you all used one then?" he asked. As his eyes moved around the room, they landed on the large bulletin board on the side wall. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed. "Of course, Miss er, Professor Burbage has you all under Muggle Rules, doesn't she?"

"We have them in our common room, too," added Charles.

"Yeah," said Nigel, "I got this from the Gryffindor board." He held up a torn square of paper.

Mr. Weasley took the paper from him, and began reading, "Gallons of Galleons! Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and Ge1—" He suddenly stopped reading and quickly folded the paper with an, "Oh, dear," and handed it back to Nigel, saying only, "Let's not mention this to Mrs. Weasley if ever you should happen to meet her, hmm?

"Alright," Mr. Weasley continued, "so you all know how Muggles make their papers, photographs, etc. stick to the board, then?"

"Yeah, those little gold things," said Charles, pointing to the box of thumb tacks.

"Exactly. They are kind of like little nails that sink into the soft cork – but they are totally removable." Mr. Weasley picked up another piece of paper from Charity's desk and stuck it to the board with a thumbtack. He turned to make sure everyone had seen, then removed the tack and the paper, and turned again to the class, shaking his head in wonder that any human had ever been so supremely clever as to think of such a thing.

"So you see, Muggles have come up with inventions that even we wizards and witches find quite useful.

"I have another box of tacks here," he said, producing another small box filled with golden thumbtacks from his pocket. There were a few low groans from the students, possibly in anticipation of another forty-five minutes of tacking paper onto the board. The students perked up with considerably more interest when Mr. Weasley said, "But these tacks have been enchanted. It is my job to disenchant them. Actually, in this case, we're simply going to destroy them. Before I do, I want to demonstrate why it is that we should never _ever_ magically tamper with common Muggle items." Now the students sat up straight and paid rapt attention.

"Before I open them, Professor Burbage, may I have your permission to magic a piece of glass in your doorway?"

"Certainly," she answered.

Mr. Weasley walked toward the doorway and grabbed the life-sized cardboard cutout of The Beatles, which Charity had propped in the corner of the room. He placed the cutout just outside the doorway, facing in, so that the musicians jauntily smirked toward the class. He stepped back into the room, held out his wand, and muttered a command. The doorway filled in with glass, which you could hardly even tell was there.

"Right then, if I may ask all of you to take cover under your desks," Mr. Weasley said. Even Charity was taken aback by this request, but they all complied, squatting onto the floor with their faces peeking out to see what was going to happen. Thank goodness little Emma Watson thought to jump up and pull Bnickel's cage under cover with her. Bnickel seemed impervious to the impending danger as he lay quite comfortably in the corner of his cage with his one white paw casually crossed over the front black one. Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley crouched under Charity's desk, reached his hands up to the surface, and opened the box.

At first nothing happened, but Mr. Weasley quietly announced, "Wait for it, wait for it." Charity thought she could just make out the sound of a tiny trumpet playing a military march. The classroom became deathly silent, straining to hear. Peeking from under the desks, they could see the tacks beginning to rise out of the box and line up neatly in little rows, like a military formation. The trumpet sound had been gradually rising and was now quite loud. Suddenly, at a command from the trumpet, the front row of enchanted tacks flipped so that their pointy ends were directed at what looked like an open doorway. At another sharp blast, they hurtled through the air towards George and Ringo, but were stopped by the glass. Their pins were savagely mangled by the collision, and they fell to the ground.

Another blast of the trumpet and the next row shot out and met the same fate. One by one, each row of tacks hurtled to their doom until every one of them was lying motionless on the floor, just inside the doorway. The trumpets were silenced.

Mr. Weasley rose breathlessly from underneath the desk and said, "So, you can see why we in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts couldn't risk those tiny, war mongering devils finding their way into a Muggle school."

The students nodded in silent agreement as they climbed out from the trenches. Mr. Weasley leaned casually on the front of Charity's desk and said, "For the rest of the time, I'd like to answer any questions that you have for me."

Charlie Whitney's hand shot into the air. At a nod from Mr. Weasley he said, "Did you really enchant a flying car that made it all the way from London to Hogwarts?"

A wistful smile fell over Mr. Weasley's face, and he answered, "Ah yes, …oh, but…well, if you've heard the whole story you'll know it didn't turn out so well, so really it's another good example of why we shouldn't mess with ordinary objects. Next question please," he said hurriedly, looking around eagerly for another raised hand.

"Do you ever get calls about enchanted Muggle pets?"

"Do you ever have to work with Professor Umbridge?

"What's the funniest prank Fred and George ever pulled at home?"

Mr. Weasley answered the questions quickly and courteously, and then the bell rang. Poor Lucas Snively crashed into the glass in the doorway on his way out, and Mr. Weasley apologized profusely for forgetting to remove it.

After the students and Mr. Weasley had departed, Charity pulled out a small square of paper which she had found stuck under the desk where she'd sheltered from the renegade tacks. It was old and delicate, but she could make out the faded printing, which simply said:

Earl Grey

Topic: Mary II – Ruler or Wife?

What was remarkable about this scrap of paper was its similarity to another scrap of paper she had found recently. When she'd returned the cookbook to the library after the baking field trip, a small square of yellowed paper had fallen out. She'd admired the pretty writing and kept it. She was currently using it as a bookmark in her Muggle Social Studies text. She pulled that old scrap out now to compare it with the new one. It read, again in very faded writing:

Darjeeling

Topic: Knitting

The handwriting was different, but the format was exactly the same. What did this mean? For now, it meant that Charity had two interesting bookmarks.

Charity had arranged to have a basket of fruit sent to Mr. Weasley as a 'Thank You' for his visit. Unfortunately, it had to double as a 'Get Well' gift. A few days after his classroom presentation, Arthur Weasley was attacked at the Ministry of Magic! Charity found out about it when Professor McGonagall called her into her office. Charity was grading papers when McGonagall's fiery face had appeared in her fireplace. McGonagall simply said, "A word in my office Professor Burbage," and disappeared.

Charity set down her pen, walked to the fireplace, and sprinkled floo powder into the flames. Within moments, she was stepping out of a different fireplace and into McGonagall's office, where she found the elderly Deputy Headmistress pacing near her desk.

"Yes, Minerva?" Charity asked.

Without hesitation, McGonagall said, "After electricity, Professor Burbage, what do you consider the most amazing modern Muggle invention?"

Charity was caught off guard by the question, but understood and answered, "Duct tape."

"Sing me the Preppy fight song," McGonagall then abruptly requested.

"P is for the pounding that we are going to give you

R is for the rings we are going to run around you

E is for the –"

"That's enough," said McGonagall as she rubbed her forehead. "Please stop." Charity recognized the questions as a safeguard that Dumbledore had put in place so that staff members could be sure they were not speaking to an impostor. Each staff member had specific security questions that presumably only they could answer. After Barty Crouch Jr. had masqueraded as Alastor Moody all last school year, one really couldn't be too careful. Charity thought this was likely a test to make sure she was taking the security measure seriously, and so responded with a question to McGonagall:

"What famous spell did your father's cousin's wife's aunt develop?"

"It was my mother's uncle's sister, and it was the Engorgement Charm."

"It wasn't the Furnunculus?"

"No," McGonagall said impatiently. "I think we've firmly established our identities, Professor Burbage, now please have a seat."

McGonagall crossed around to the back of her desk and sat at the edge of her chair with her elbows on the desk and her hands clasped tightly together. She looked very intently at Charity, her eyes flicking back and forth in their square-rimmed frames as she said evenly, "Last night, Arthur Weasley was attacked and nearly killed."

"What?" Charity exclaimed. Her face could have given away nothing but genuine shock, and McGonagall relaxed her gaze. "But I just saw him here last week!" Charity continued.

"Yes, I know. That's why I wanted to speak to you. Do you know of anyone else who spoke with him while he was here at Hogwarts?"

"Um. Professor Umbridge," Charity answered, and McGonagall's eyes opened a bit wider while her thin lips remained pressed tightly together. "She came in during his presentation and asked him to read a passage from the Ministry by-laws concerning Muggle Artifacts."

McGonagall's eyes resumed their normal size, and she asked, "Was that all?"

"Yes. Although there did seem to be tension between the two of them."

"I see. Did Arthur tell you about anybody else that he would be meeting with while in the area."

"No…" Charity just then remembered something that had struck her as odd at the time, "but when I was passing by a window on the second floor, I saw him walking with Professor Snape towards Professor Hagrid's cabin." McGonagall did not seem to be the least bit phased by this information and merely sat silent with her own thoughts. Charity had the distinct impression that McGonagall was acting in an official capacity for something, but most definitely not as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"Professor Burbage," McGonagall finally said, "did Arthur tell you anything, anything at all, about any of his…er...recent activities?"

Charity searched her mind, but only came up with, "Just his job and his family. Oh wait, Professor Umbridge said something about him being busy with 'other activities' but I didn't know what she was talking about."

McGonagall seemed interested in this information. "She did, did she? Well thank you Professor Burbage –"

It seemed she was about to be dismissed, so Charity blurted out, "Is he going to be alright?" She was half afraid to hear the answer.

"It appears he's through the worst of it and, God willing, will make a full recovery."

"Thank goodness," Charity sighed with relief. "But how was he attacked? Where was he?"

McGonagall peered at Charity through narrowed eyes, apparently deciding how much to tell her. "It was in the middle of the night at the Ministry of –" she started slowly, but was cut off by a loud whoosh from her fireplace. Umbridge tripped over the grate in her haste to get out and nearly tumbled onto Charity.

"Oh dear," Professor Umbridge giggled falsely, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but it looked like you two girls were having a little party and I didn't want to miss out."

"Monitoring the floo network, are you, Doloris?" McGonagall stated coldly. Umbridge only responded with her sickly sweet smile. "Well, I'm afraid you have missed the party, Professor Burbage was just leaving." McGonagall finished tersely and ushered Charity to the fireplace. McGonagall's tone left no doubt that Umbridge would be re-entering the fireplace herself in a few short minutes.

Over the next few days, Charity tried to find out what she could about the mysterious attack of Arthur Weasley. Nothing appeared in the Prophet, and the professors she asked either truly didn't know anything or were being very tight lipped. She considered sending an owl to Charlie, but decided it was too private a matter. She could only assume that the Ministry would handle the case properly and make sure no more such accidents occurred. She had to be satisfied just knowing that Mr. Weasley was going to be okay.

1 Text taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix


	9. Muggle Potion

Chapter 9

Muggle Potion

Charity spent the holidays at home with her parents. She was surprised to find that still nothing appeared in the Daily Prophet regarding the attack on Mr. Weasley. On her second morning back to school, however, an even more disturbing story filled the front page. It was a story that even the Prophet couldn't possibly ignore: Ten prisoners had escaped from Azkaban, the wizard prison. All ten had been imprisoned for committing atrocious acts as Death Eaters. The Ministry assumed that the breakout had been facilitated by Sirius Black, a very dangerous Death Eater who'd escaped from Azkaban two years earlier. Black had narrowly escaped near re-capture at Hogwarts almost a year after his escape and had not been heard from since. Couple this with the rumors about Lord Voldemort's return, and it was no wonder every square inch of Hogwarts was buzzing with speculation.

Professors were discouraged from discussing the matter with their students in a new decree issued by Doloris Umbridge. Although annoyed at being told what she could and couldn't talk about, Charity thought the decree was probably for the best. No sense falsely alarming the children. The way she figured it, the newly freed prisoners were likely already whooping it up with Black on some far far away tropical island and posed no threat to anyone in the northern hemisphere.

Meanwhile, Professor Hagrid had been put on probation by Professor Umbridge. That lucky Pocket Dragon, which Charity'd finally given to him after his return to Hogwarts two months ago, appeared to be working in reverse. Not only had he been placed on probation, but every time she saw him, he seemed to be coming off some new mishap with his magical creatures. Fresh bruises and cuts constantly decorated his face and hands these days. Charity felt a twinge of guilt when she thought about him and Trelawney being on probation; she knew she'd probably be paddling the same leaky boat alongside them if she hadn't tricked Umbridge with her Muggle jokes.

Rather than getting weighed down by this ominous start to the New Year, Charity preoccupied herself with other matters. At the end of the first week back, she sent the following message to Snape at breakfast:

**Important:** Research over holidays revealed potions currently being used by Muggles. Must test on wizards and witches. Meet me in my office tonight 20:00.

- Professor Burbage

The note disintegrated into a puff of sparkles, catching the attention of the professors sitting near Snape. He gave Charity a brief, undecipherable glance down the table. That evening, Charity waited in her office but was not at all sure that he would show. At precisely 20:00 she sat watching her fireplace but instead heard a tap at her door, which she opened to find Professor Snape. Bnickel became excited by the entrance of a visitor and kicked his heels noisily around his hutch. Snape barely gave the rabbit a glance and kept his distance.

"Welcome Professor Snape. Thank you for coming," Charity smiled. "I have everything set up in here," she said and led him through her grapevine wreath. Snape hesitated for a brief moment but then followed.

On the counter in her kitchenette was a large bottle of clear liquid, several smaller bottles of varying colors, a jar of green olives, and a silver cylinder, which bowed out slightly at the middle. Snape narrowed his eyes at the supplies and asked, "What's this?"

"It's the ingredients for a Muggle potion. In just the right doses, it appears to make Muggles very exuberant and happy, but too much will either knock them out or make them violently ill. Or both. I think they call it a 'Martini.'"

Snape shot Charity a venomous look, to which she replied, "Oh come on, Severus, I know you are very important and very busy, but I wanted to thank you for your help with my potions last term, and I knew you'd never come if you knew the visit was purely social." She was already shaking the cylinder and poured him a drink in a conical glass. As she handed him the drink, she asked, "One olive or two?"

He grudgingly took two. After taking an angry swig from his glass, Snape stood with Charity in an uncomfortable silence, during which she contemplated her motives. Why had she thought inviting Snape over was a good idea? Surely she knew to expect his unfriendly reaction. Was she just trying to take the Mickey out of him? As fun as that was, she was sure it wasn't the entire reason. It bothered her the way he walked around in such a stormy mood all the time. It was as if the weight of the world was constantly pressing down on his shoulders. While most everyone else only saw his severity, she also saw sadness. A sadness that, for some reason, she felt compelled to lighten. She wanted to give him a lighthearted respite from whatever it was that occupied his gloomy thoughts.

With his drink nearly gone, Snape's anger seemed to ebb. The lines that typically creased his forehead softened, and the dark clouds in his black eyes appeared to be breaking up. He surprised Charity when he abruptly said, "I've been thinking about your theory regarding Muggles and potions. I suppose in time - at the right time - potions could be a unifying factor."

Charity felt an unexpected thrill that he had actually considered her theory. She jumped right in. "You know, it's actually rather funny that Muggles haven't stumbled on some of our potions already. Look at this," she said as she reached into one of her cabinets and pulled out a small bag. She dumped the contents onto her counter. "Age defying eye creams. Wart remover. Look, here's one that will make the muscles in your arms bigger when you sprinkle it on your porridge every morning. All Muggle products. I'm telling you, it's only a matter of time before they stumble onto something truly magical."

While Snape was looking through the small pile, Charity poured from a bright green bottle into the shaker and, without asking, refilled both of their glasses, saying only "Appletini."

About half way through the new concoction, Snape said, "But Muggles don't have access to the ingredients that we use to make our potions."

"Half the wizarding world doesn't have access to the ingredients that you have!" Charity said, thinking of the rows of nefarious jars that lined his office shelves. Snape allowed himself a small, wicked smile, and Charity began to think that maybe there actually _was_ something magical about these drinks after all. Snape was becoming downright companionable.

"I suppose you're right," she continued. "But what's to stop an owl from one day carrying, say…Abyssinian Shrivelfig seeds into a Muggle garden where they can thrive?"

"Don't you remember..." Snape said, looking at her incredulously. "No, I guess you were too young. Devil's Snare was once brought to a densely shaded forest near Muggle residences." Charity looked horrified. Devil's Snare was a vicious plant that would ensnare and strangle unsuspecting victims.

"How--?" Charity started to ask.

Snape answered her with a simple, "Death Eaters." Something in the way he said these words ran like ice down Charity's spine and temporarily offset the effects of the alcohol. Even though she was too young to know much about it at the time, she had heard plenty of stories about the horrible things Death Eaters had done to non-followers and Muggles. Now ten…no eleven…of them were on the loose. The familiar storm clouds gathered again in Snape's eyes, so Charity quickly busied herself with making the next round of drinks and searched for a change of subject.

Snape also seemed to make an effort to keep the topics light after that, but Charity could tell he was distracted. She began to feel the drinks swimming in her head and wasn't ready for him to suddenly set down his glass and tell her very seriously,

"If the time comes for wizards and Muggles to live closer together…._when_ the time comes," he corrected himself after a sharp look from Charity. "You must be very careful. Don't try to rush it. There are dark forces working against this very thing happening _at this moment,_ so you mustn't be too eager." He looked into her eyes with concern, as if searching for comprehension of his warning.

"Porfessor Snape, are you worried abou' me?" Charity asked, slurring slightly as a drunken smile widened on her lips.

"Yes, _Por_fessor Burbage," he said, slowly rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if he dreaded what he was going to say next. "Because I _like_ you."

Charity screamed and laughed in victory. She jumped off her stool and pulled his face to her with both hands. She gave him a quick kiss on the mouth and then jumped back with another victorious yelp. Snape was caught completely off-guard by her reaction and stood rooted to his spot, looking utterly bewildered as to what to do. Charity only laughed harder. Lucky for him, she'd gone beyond her two drink limit and soon passed out cold, sparing him the need to react.

With a clearer head the next day, Charity had time to reflect on Snape's warning and wonder about its significance. Did this mean that he actually believed that what's-his-face had returned to his full powers and that the escaped Death Eaters had joined him? Did he actually know something that the general public didn't, or was he just towing Dumbledore's party line?

Charity sensed that Dumbledore considered a select group of professors at Hogwarts to be his higher council. Snape, along with McGonagall, was senior in that group. Charity had often suspected that a lot more went on up in Dumbledore's tower room than formulating curriculum, especially after McGonagall's interrogation the previous month; Hogwarts had clearly become more than just a school for witchcraft and wizardry. Sometimes the castle almost felt like sort of a base of operations for…for something. Were they plotting against Voldemort or for Fudge's job?

Snape's concern regarding dark forces had certainly seemed genuine. Perhaps he was merely being cautious because of the escaped Death Eaters…but could there be more to the story? Could Voldemort really be back? The mere thought was chilling. Charity found comfort in the knowledge that if, in fact, Voldemort was back, at least Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were on to him. Surely they'd be working with others in the wider wizarding community to prevent his return to power. But shouldn't the Minister of Magic be part of that group? Why would Fudge stand out so strongly against them if the story were true?

Charity gingerly shook her head and muttered to Bnickel, who was lying lazily on her lap as she stroked his favorite spot between his ears, "Politics. See why I don't get involved?"

Ever since the evening of Muggle Potions, Snape and Charity had become noticeably friendlier with each other, even if Charity was the only one who actually noticed. When others were around, Snape was respectful but very formal with her. It appeared he wanted to keep their newfound friendship a secret. Charity reasoned to herself that he'd worked hard and long on his reputation as the resident anti-socialite, and it probably wasn't so easy to give all that up. Besides, respectful was a big enough improvement for her.

She seemed to run into Snape much more often these days and wasn't sure that this was entirely coincidental. She'd be looking for a book in the restricted section of the library and see him through the bookshelf, searching in the next aisle. Or she'd find him examining the hump on the one-eyed witch near her office. Whenever they did find themselves alone, they would have the nicest beginnings of a conversation - peppered with just the right amount of sarcasm - but within a few minutes, someone would walk by, and he would stalk off. When Charity wasn't bumping into Snape, she sometimes surprised herself by thinking about him.

A couple months into the newfound friendship, the school was thrown into an uproar. A group of students were found to have been secretly meeting to practice their Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Ministry seemed to think it was part of Dumbledore's plot to take over; not a far stretch seeing as the group called itself Dumbledore's Army. Rather than stick around to be prosecuted by the Ministry, Hogwarts' headmaster had gone into hiding. Charity's opinion of the Ministry had plummeted since meeting Professor Umbridge, so she figured that if Dumbledore was indeed forming his own army, he probably had good reason, and she was glad he'd escaped. Nevertheless, the situation didn't bode well for the students and staff left behind at Hogwarts, especially because the newly vacated position of headmaster was immediately filled by the one and only Doloris Umbridge.

Umbridge began her first day as headmistress with a literal bang. At about lunchtime, the castle corridors filled with loud booms and bright sparks as enchanted fireworks zoomed through them. Charity had been grading papers in her office before she ran out into the hallway to see what was causing the racket. A sparkling dragon flew through the hall toward her, and she ducked back into her office, slamming her door just in time. A few minutes later, she peeked out to see Professor Umbridge, followed closely by Filch, running down the corridor with a wild look in her eyes. Umbridge and Filch were flailing about ineffectively with a wand and a charred stick, respectively.

"Burbage!" Umbridge gasped as she passed. Her voice seemed to have lost all of its girlish charm. "Get your wand out of your arse and HELP!"

Charity dashed to her desk and grabbed her wand. She came back out into the hallway just as Umbridge and Filch's frantic bodies disappeared around the corner and Professor Vector emerged from his Arithmancy classroom looking thoroughly confused.

"Renegade fireworks," Charity explained as a huge Catherine wheel came charging down the corridor. She pointed her wand at it and shouted, "Evanesco!" expecting the firework to vanish. Instead, it split into ten smaller Catherine wheels that went bouncing all around. Charity flattened herself against the wall and barely avoided getting singed by a few of the burning wheels. She then noticed a silvery flash zoom into her office. She looked in and expected to see her papers aflame, but it was just Peeves, speechless and trembling from head to foot. She'd never seen him in this condition; the fireworks running rampant throughout the school had spooked him terribly. She shouted for him to stay in her office and slammed the door to protect him and her paperwork from damage.

Meanwhile, Vector was battling with a rocket that seemed to have taken a fancy to him. He performed an extinguishing charm, which worked nicely, but it didn't save either him or Charity from low-flying firecrackers, which first knocked Vector off his feet and then Charity, who fell on top of him. They laid on the stone floor, trying to catch their breath, when a group of sparklers came along and spelled out, '_Nanny Nanny Boo Boo,'_ in the air above them. The two professors looked at the words and then at each other and simultaneously broke into peels of laughter while flashes of orange, green, pink, and gold glitter whizzed and bounced and sizzled above them.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Charity noticed that the explosives were grudgingly moving away, as if some force was pushing them down the hall against their will. A rogue rocket made a mad attempt against the force, only to be repelled. Charity looked to the opposite end of the corridor and saw Snape, with his wand outstretched, calmly walking down the hall, muttering some sort of incantation under his breath. Seeing Snape so seriously taking on the rollicking combustibles brought on a whole new wave of uncontrollable guffaws.

As Snape pushed the flaming show to the end of the hall, he paused next to the pile of his fellow professors. He held out his wand-free hand to Charity, who took it and pulled herself up. Professor Vector sat up and took several deep breaths in an attempt to quell his laughter while looking nervously at Snape. Vector seemed to expect some sort of reprimand. Charity tried to explain to Snape what was so funny, but all she could get out in her jag of giggles was, "whoosh...boo boo…" She shook with more hilarity at every syllable. Snape merely shook his head, with one corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, before continuing down the hall. Vector looked bemusedly between the two of them, while Snape pushed the explosives around the corner and into the next corridor where Umbridge and Filch had disappeared.

Umbridge's voice could be heard moving further away as she screached, "Snape! Snape stop! Don't you see us here..."

At one point, the relationship between Charity and Snape almost moved beyond friendly. Trelawney had finally been sacked in early March and replaced by Firenze, a centaur from the Forbidden Forest. Hiring a part-human was quite an unusual move for the school and had been done by Dumbledore before his departure. It was generally assumed that the only reason Umbridge hadn't gotten rid of Firenze yet was because she was too busy dealing with other matters at the moment. Feeling a bit rebellious, Firenze and Professor Sinistra organized a small staff party out on the Hogwarts lawn, right under the new Headmistress' nose. They were expecting a meteor shower in the late hours one April evening and had invited all of the other professors, minus Umbridge, to view it with them.

These days the outdoors was much preferable to inside the castle, which had become overrun with dung bombs and random explosions ever since the Weasley twins, Fred and George, had decided they'd had enough of the place and made a very dramatic exit. It seemed as if at least half the remaining students were vying for the unofficial title of new school troublemaker, and they were all making an excellent case for themselves. Even so, it was a very small party that gathered on the lawn that evening, comprising only Firenze, Sinistra, Sprout, Flitwick, Snape, and Charity. McGonagall was embroiled in yet another conflict with Umbridge, while several other teachers were already busy preparing for the end-of-term exams. Madam Pomfrey was stuck up in the infirmary with a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had apparently gotten ahold of some bad berries in a treacle tart, likely the work of the lead trouble-maker-to-be.

The attending professors had appeared mildly surprised when Snape, the last to join the group, came strolling down the hill towards them with his cloak blowing out in the breeze, like a large bat descending upon them. They seemed to half expect him to shoo them back into the castle, but instead he came and stood silently among them. The party soon became smaller when Sprout and Flitwick received a note dropped by a passing owl that they were needed at once in the infirmary. Apparently another wave of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had just shown up with the same berry symptoms.

Firenze was restless. His paws continuously scraped the ground as he gazed up to the heavens with more than a few nervous, downward glances toward the Forbidden Forest; he had not left the Centaur herd that lived there on good terms. The group of professors stood at a fair distance from the forest, but Firenze was still taking a chance just being out there, especially at night.

"It shouldn't be long now," he said and told them that the return of this rare event was of great significance. He declined to expound on the nature of this significance in his secretive, Centaurian way.

The moon was big and bright, but thousands of stars were visible in the open sky, which was bordered by the tall trees of the Forbidden Forest on one side and the sharp spires of the castle on the other. Firenze seemed hardly able to contain himself when he abruptly announced, "Please pardon me. I must run up to the nearest hill for a closer look." He galloped off before he'd even finished his sentence.

Professor Sinistra was almost as itchy and called after Firenze, "I say, wait up, I'll join you!" She ran off after Firenze, and Charity and Snape found themselves unexpectedly alone under the starry sky.

Keeping her eyes trained upward, Charity asked Snape, "Do you study astrology?"

"No. I prefer to focus on the more, eh, _proven_ branches of magic."

"So, you never wished on a shooting star?"

"Yes, I suppose I did when I was a boy."

"Aha! So you admit that you were once a child," Charity exclaimed. Snape glanced towards her questioningly, so she explained, "Oh, it's just that I have trouble picturing you ever being anything but a wicked potions master who thrives on sucking the joy out of children. To think that you were actually once a child - now that's an event of great significance," she teased, still looking up at the sky with a tiny smile playing on the corners of her mouth. Through her peripheral vision she could see Snape shaking his head slightly. Now that she had him on the subject…

"What kind of games did you play as a child? I was fond of cat in the cupboard."

"I don't know," he answered shortly.

"You don't know?"

"My childhood was a long time ago – a lot longer ago than yours."

Not willing to give up, she pursued, "Well, were your hair and eyes always this dark or did you start out blonde-haired and blue-eyed and get steadily darker as time went on?"

His black eyes stayed fixed on the sky as he answered, "I suppose I started out a bit lighter and have become darker over the years."

"Do you have any pictures of you as a child? I'd love to see them. Where did you grow up?"

Snape seemed exasperated by this line of questioning and said, "Questions, questions – do they ever end?"

"You could just answer them," she said. "Or…"

"Or?" Snape asked, looking down at her.

Turning her pretty face toward him, Charity said, "Well, if you're not going to answer them, I suppose you could stop them at the source." She blushed and grabbed his eyes with an engaging look. Snape's exasperation seemed to melt as he stared down at her. Charity could see that he was thinking about taking her up on her offer, and she grasped onto his hand under the long sleeves of his cloak. But Snape waited too long, and soon a shuffling noise came at them down the hill.

"Are we too late? Did we miss anything?" It was Professors Sprout and Flitwick rushing back from the infirmary.

"No, you didn't miss anything," Charity answered, giving Snape a disappointed look. She had gripped Snape's hand tighter because she knew his instinct would be to pull away at the sight of others. She was right about that, but when she refused to let go of his hand, he only shot her a reproving glance and stopped resisting.

"How are the students?" Charity asked.

"Oh fine, fine. I daresay they'll think twice about a second helping of dessert from now on. I suppose I should add a unit on 'how to detect a bad berry' to Herbology next term," answered Professor Sprout. As she was speaking, rumbling hooves approached.

"Look up…western sky…there it is!" shouted Firenze breathlessly as he pointed to the sky.

They all looked up and saw what looked like hundreds of stars streaking through the night. It was magnificent. They watched in wonder and silence as Charity and Snape remained standing very close to each other, their clasped hands safely hidden under Snape's long sleeve. Charity was surprised to feel what she was pretty sure was a silver and glass mood ring on his finger. She wondered what color it was just then.


	10. Death Eater Extraordinaire

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Death Eater Extraordinaire

As exams drew ever nearer, Charity noticed that Charles Whitney, usually the most boisterous student in class, had been acting rather subdued. She'd thought he was probablyjust a little depressed in anticipation of the long hours to be spent studying for exams, until one day he raised his hand in her class, and as his robe slipped down his arm, she caught a glimpse of blood-red marks on his hand. She may have thought nothing of it and assumed it was just a scrape from goofing off with friends if he hadn't been so quick to cover his hand. She continued with the lesson without comment, but asked him to stay behind after class.

"Charles, let me see your hand," she said. He looked at her wide-eyed and shook his head. "Look Charles, I know I haven't been very strict, but I am your professor and you do need to listen to me," she said firmly.

He slowly pulled his sleeve away from his hand to reveal the thin red lines. On closer examination, Charity realized that the lines formed letters, and there was a sentence written across his hand. Squinting, she read, "_I must not disrupt class_."

At first she thought it was written in red ink, but then she noticed that the skin around the marks was puffed and irritated. The words were definitely formed by drawn blood from repeated scratching…or something. Her voice shook when she asked him, "How did this happen?"

Charles looked at the floor and answered, "I...I got a detention in D-Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Did Professor Umbridge do this?"

"N-No. I d-d-id it to my-myself."

"How?"

"With this special p-pen in Professor Umbridge's office." His voice faltered and Charity could see that he was crying.

"Charles," she said, gently rubbing his shoulder. "Did she make you do it?" Charity tried unsuccessfully to control the anger in her voice.

"Y-Yes! But please don't say anything!" he pleaded, looking up at her with his tearstained face. "PLEASE! I deserved it. I enchanted some tacks and was sticking –"

"You did not deserve this!" Charity said forcefully. "Detention, yes, but this…this is torture!" He started crying again and Charity did something very unteacherly and hugged him. She rocked back and forth and let him cry on her shoulder. By the time he calmed down, her eyes were also filled with tears. Wiping away both of their tears, she told him, "Look, you just fly right in her class from now on. Save your jokes for my class, okay?" He nodded and she added, "No flying tacks though." He laughed a little, and then she wrote him a late pass for his next class. She handed it to him, telling him not to worry - she wouldn't say anything to Umbridge, but she was going to make sure this didn't happen again.

She didn't say anything to Umbridge, but she did go to McGonagall, as deputy headmistress. "Do you know that Doloris Umbridge is torturing students!" she practically shouted as she marched into McGonagall's office.

"I'll admit, her methods are a bit archaic," replied McGonagall distractedly, while she filed parchment in a drawer.

"Archaic? That woman is positively demented!" This time Charity actually did shout, drawing McGonagall's full attention. "Do you know that she made one of my students carve scars into _his own hand_? He's always been a bit of a trouble maker, but I'll take that over what she's trying to turn him into – a dejected little…little ZOMBIE!"

McGonagall let Charity carry on this way for a short while, then asked her to sit down and explained very calmly, "I know. I know. Believe me I feel the very same way and have vented my anger many times. What I've found out is that we are stuck in a powerless position to do anything about the situation. As far as we are concerned, Doloris Umbridge IS the Ministry and, therefore, the law around this school."

"Well, then I'll go talk to the law!" Charity jumped out of her chair and headed toward the door.

McGonagall raised her voice to warning level and said, "I'm afraid all you'll accomplish by confronting her is to rid Hogwarts of Muggle Studies, once and for all." This stopped Charity in her tracks. McGonagall was right - cross Umbridge just once, and she wouldn't hesitate to eliminate you and your course. Look what had happened to Trelawney and Hagrid. Charity slumped back down onto her chair in front of McGonagall's desk, while the black cat from Salem stared down at her.

"So that's it - we can't do _anything_?" she asked in a defeated tone. "Are the other teachers okay with this?"

"About as okay as you and I are. I'm afraid the best we can do is to try to keep our students out of detention with that…that…ugh." McGonagall sighed and leaned back in her chair with her head tilted up toward the ceiling. Charity could see with that sigh that McGonagall had already had more than her share of frustrations with Umbridge The last thing she wanted to do was cause more problems for her.

Resigned to her position and feeling philosophical, Charity muttered, "Yet another example of how absolute power warps the mind."

After leaving McGonagall's office, Charity headed down to the dungeons. Snape seemed to command a tiny bit more respect from Umbridge than did the other professors, so she thought she'd try to persuade him to have a little chat with the headmistress on the matter. Apparently he was not in, however, because his classroom was dark and he didn't respond to several knocks on his office door. On her way back up to her room, Charity considered that, perhaps, this was for the best. She wasn't sure that she and Snape saw exactly eye-to-eye on acceptable punishment for students.

At the next class, Charity announced without any reference to Charles that the students were to toe the line in all of their classes, most especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "If you are having any issues with the instructor for that particular class, please come to me with these problems rather than acting out in class. And if any of you do find yourself with a detention with Professor Umbridge, you are to _tell me_ and I will accompany you," she told them, speaking with an edge rarely heard in her voice. The students listened attentively, although most had no idea what she was talking about.

One morning Charity woke up and was heading through her office to feed Bnickel when she found her parents sitting with wide grins on her cushy sofa.

"Surprise kitten!" sang her father jovially, while her mother rushed up for a hug.

"Mum, dad, what are you doing here?" Charity asked delightedly.

"Oh, your father has some business in the area so we thought we'd pop in for a birthday visit."

"Excellent! My class is about to arrive; would you like to sit in?" Her parents were thrilled and took seats at the back of her classroom, smiling away at the students as they entered. The students plastered on smiles in return, but then immediately turned to Charity for some explanation.

"Class, this is my mum and dad – Mr. and Mrs. Burbage." Smiles and nods all around. The lesson started out pertaining to the expeditions of Magellan, but somehow turned into a presentation of Charity's expeditions from birth to current times, complete with baby photos and all.

"…and here she is in Majorca at age five. See what a good swimmer she already was?" Mrs. Burbage said, showing off a picture Charity kept in her office. Charity tried turning the tide, but gave in once she saw how much her parents were enjoying themselves. After shadowing Charity around Hogwarts all day and meeting her students and various colleagues, Charity's parents decided to treat her to dinner in Hogsmeade. In the entrance hall on their way out, they ran into a colleague that Charity particularly wanted them to meet. Snape had just emerged from the doorway to the dungeons.

"Mum, Dad, I would like you to meet our Potions Master, Severus Snape. Professor Snape, these are my parents, Ralph and Trudy." Snape was as pleasant as Snape could be expected to be, but Mr. Burbage was surprisingly reserved, only nodding his head and not extending his hand to meet Snape's. Her mother said, "Hello," politely enough, but looked rather nervous.

Charity was confused by her parents' reactions, "Do you already know Professor Snape?" she asked.

"Only by reputation," her father answered stiffly.

Trying to cover for her father's rudeness, Charity said, "Professor Snape is quite an expert in potions—"

Her father cut her off by saying, "I understand he's quite skilled in _all_ forms of magic." He then continued walking through the entrance hall. Charity followed and glanced back at Snape with an apologetic look.

Once they were settled into a cozy table at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, Charity asked her father, "What was that about back there with Professor Snape?"

"Did you really expect me to shake hands with a Death Eater?"

"What?" she exclaimed with shock.

"Didn't you know?" her father asked, looking somewhat incredulous. "Surely Dumbledore warned you about who you'd be working with?"

"C'mon dad, you don't know that for a fact," she answered. Being in the publishing business, Ralph Burbage was clued in to a lot of inside information, but not all of it turned out to be true. "Besides, even if there were any truth to it, he's obviously a changed man now," Charity added.

"Death Eaters don't change," her father replied darkly.

"He does have a rather sinister look about him," chimed in Mrs. Burbage with a shudder. It was funny to think that, not long ago, Snape had inspired the same kind of fear in Charity. But now that she saw him in a new light, his serious and dark presence inspired more of a warm respect in her.

"And he wasn't just any Death Eater," her father continued importantly. "They say he was becoming one of You-Know-Who's most trusted advisors."

"Well, why would Dumbledore welcome one of what's-his-face's most trusted advisors into Hogwarts? I'm telling you - it's not true," Charity said firmly.

"As for why Dumbledore's decided to trust him, I can't say. Unless he's just trying to keep his enemy close," Mr. Burbage said with his eyes narrowed in a knowing look. "I know all about the strange happenings around this school during the past few years, and I don't care what the papers are reporting – you can't tell me that Snape's not behind it."

Charity sat back, exasperated. She was clearly not going to convince her father. "Now kitten," he said, looking at her importantly, "don't you go cavorting with the likes of Snape. You just keep your distance."

"Oh Ralph," said her mother, rolling her eyes and patting Mr. Burbage on the shoulder. "Our Charity's not going to go 'cavorting' with a nasty man like Snape. _Really_!" She shook her head in amusement at the very thought, and Charity suddenly became intensely interested in her cheese plate. "Now can we please change the subject and enjoy our dinner?"

"Agreed," said father and daughter in unison.

Charity didn't get a chance to talk to Snape for the next couple of days. He exited the Great Hall quickly after meals and didn't linger in the hallways. After classes one afternoon, she waited in a dank corridor for his potions class to end. The students flooded into the hallway and cleared, and Snape emerged a few minutes later.

"Severus," she called and rested her hand on his arm to keep him by her. "I want to apologize for the way my father treated you the other day. If I had known, I would never have even introduced you." In the silence that followed, she added, "I'm sorry."

Still avoiding eye contact, Snape said in his deep voice, "He certainly has reason not to trust me. No apology necessary." He started to walk away, but Charity tightened her grip on his arm.

"But, Severus, you _didn't_ deserve it."

They looked at each other for a moment before Snape began to roll up the sleeve on the arm she wasn't gripping and said, "Some sins are never forgiven." He turned his bare forearm over and showed her what looked like a tattoo of a skull with a snake coming out of the mouth. It was the same symbol that had been pictured all over the Daily Prophet two years earlier, when it had been conjured in the sky after the Quidditch World Cup. It was the Dark Mark, Voldemort's symbol.

Hot tears involuntarily sprang to Charity's eyes. She hated seeing that mark on him. She wanted to get rid of it. Releasing his other arm, she moved her hand towards it, but he gripped her hand firmly and shouted, "Don't touch it!" It seemed he'd been more forceful than intended because he immediately calmed his voice to a quieter tone and explained softly, "He marked each of us with this. He uses it to communicate."

Charity pulled her hand back, but the lump in her throat wouldn't let her say anything. Tears were streaming down her face. Snape began roughly rolling his sleeve back down, recovering the mark, and said, "So you see, your father is right. You shouldn't be associating with someone like me."

Charity found her voice again and said, "Severus, you're here now. Professor Dumbledore obviously believes you have changed, and so do I." She felt terrible when she remembered teasing him about becoming darker. Seeking to reassure him, she stepped closer and looked straight into his face, although he was now avoiding her tear streaked eyes. She said quietly, "All sins can be forgiven, Severus, if you really want them to be. I know that if what's-his-face does come back, like some are saying he will, you'll never go back to him."

Now Snape's eyes snapped onto Charity's. They shone with gratefulness, but soon glazed over into something Charity couldn't read. "One never knows exactly what they'll do in a situation until they are faced with it," he said.

This ended their conversation, but Snape stopped avoiding Charity in the halls after that.

_The following are scenes that took place about this time, but to which Charity was never privy. Nevertheless, I thought it might provide some insight to the reader. The scenes took place at the headquarters of the legendary Order of the Phoenix. The Order is an independent and secretive organization that formed to fight Voldemort when he first came to power. The Order re-formed under the new threats and worked to prevent Voldemort's return to power:_

_Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley found themselves alone in the kitchen at headquarters. McGonagall leaned in and spoke quietly to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, you know I'm not one to give credence to rumors but…" she trailed off, apparently unsure how or if she should continue._

_"Go on," said Mrs. Weasley. "Out with it."_

_"I trust this will go no further than this room," she said, looking Mrs. Weasley directly in the eye. _

_"Of course," answered Mrs. Weasley. The plump red head was now sitting at the edge of her seat._

_"I simply need to run this past someone to make sure it's nothing we should be concerned about," McGonagall said as if convincing herself. She shook her head slightly, her decision made. As she readied herself to have out with it, her mouth curled into a rather girlish smile, which looked very strange upon her typically stern face. "It appears there may be a bit of a staff romance at Hogwarts," she said._

_"Fred and George didn't have anything to do with it did they?" asked a panicked Mrs. Weasley. "No lovesick pasties or anything like that?"_

_"No. Well, I hadn't really thought about it, but…no, I'm sure the victim in this case would be quite impervious to such amateur attempts." Mrs. Weasley looked for a moment as if she might argue the 'amateur' comment, but decided against it in the interest of finally getting the story out._

_"Minerva…" she prompted._

_"Well, Professor Vector came to me the other day with a suspicion that Severus may be developing feelings for the new Muggle Studies professor - Burbage. He doesn't have any concrete evidence, he's simply noticed some friendly exchanges in the hallways, but I must say, I can't argue with him. Severus does seem to scowl much less at her than he does at the rest of us."_

_"So, he may have a heart after all?"_

_McGonagall chuckled and said, "It would appear so."_

_"Well, he better be careful around that one. My Charlie knows her, and if you ask me she's very fickle—"_

_"Molly, I didn't bring this up so we could rake Burbage's romantic history over the coals. I only wonder if it's anything we need to worry about as members of the Order. Severus knows most of what goes on here, probably more than any of us, and one thing we've always been able to count on is the fact that he's got no personal contacts - in other words, no grapevine through which any of our secrets might travel. If things, ehm, progress between him and this woman, should we be concerned that some of our secrets might slip."_

_Mrs. Weasley thought about it for a good long while and finally said, "No. Snape's not going to let anything get out of his control. If he's been able to turn spy for us without You-Know-Who finding out, I don't think we have to worry about his ability to keep secrets. Besides, he being sweet on her doesn't mean she's returning the sentiment. Honestly, if my Charlie wasn't good enough for her, I don't see how Snape could possibly fit the bill," she said, shaking her head. _

_"Good. That's exactly as I thought, but I needed a trusted second opinion. Let's keep this between you and me. I'm sure Severus would sooner set fire to the poor girl than have us suspect that he may actually have feelings for her."_

_The conversation stopped immediately as a long-haired, somewhat wild-looking man walked into the room with a rather smug smile on his face._

_A few days later in the entrance hall of Order Headquarters:_

_Severus Snape walked in the front door, shaking raindrops from his umbrella. The wild-looking man poked his head out from the kitchen to see who it was and upon observing Snape, swaggered into the hallway._

_"Coming to greet me? How thoughtful of you," Snape sneered at him._

_"Actually, Snivelus, I've been meaning to ask you – how is Hogwarts' beautiful young Muggle Studies professor these days?" the man said. Snape seemed surprised by the question and didn't answer, but instead gazed suspiciously at him. "Does she still smell like wildflowers on a sunny, spring day?" the man asked in a purposefully wistful voice._

_"Yes," Snape answered cautiously, still eying him._

_"And is her skin still as soft as --" Now Snape's eyes flashed, and his face contorted with oncoming rage. "Ah," continued the man, his eyes shining on what used to be a very handsome face. "You haven't felt it. Well, let me assure you, you're missing out," he said and gave a nasty chuckle._

_Snape's contorted face transformed into unreadable stone as he said calmly, "How do you know Professor Burbage?" His suppressed rage was evident only in the slight vibration of his voice._

_"Remember, I lived in Hogsmeade all last year…" the man said in the tone of one embarking on a beloved bedtime story. _

_"As a dog," Snape spat at him. He meant it quite literally. It was rare, but some gifted wizards had the ability to transform themselves into the shape of an animal at will. McGonagall, for example, was an animagus (the name given to those who can make such transformations) and could become a cat whenever she wanted. This man's animagus was a big black dog._

_ "When in public," the mangy man responded suggestively. "Yes, well, Professor Burbage and I became quite friendly in Hogsmeade and we spent a lot of, ah, time together," he said softly, smiling nastily at Snape. _

_Snape looked stricken, and his hand tightened on his wand inside his pocket. Just then Mad-Eye Moody (the real Mad-Eye Moody) burst through the front door, nearly knocking over the two men as he stepped in. "What's this?" he said in his gravely voice. His magical eye roved around the hall and he said, "Good, you're here, Snape. You're the one I want to talk to."_

_"Naturally," Snape said, turning a sneer onto the mangy man._

_The man turned to leave them and head upstairs. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped and called out, "Snape, tell our young friend 'hello' for me. Better yet, give her a lick on the neck for me - that ought to bring back memories…"_

_Snape made an angry move towards him, but Moody held him back. "Knock it off!" he barked at Snape and the man. "Do I need to remind you that we're in the middle of a damned war? And we don't need you two fussing about like a couple a' bloody school girls!" _

Near the end of May, in the middle of a lecture on the Bubonic Plague and Muggle vaccines, Charity looked up from her chalkboard to see her students shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Some were shooting nervous glances towards the doorway at the back of the room. She raised her eyes to see Snape standing there.

"Oh, hello, Professor Snape," she said, smiling questioningly.

"Good afternoon," he addressed her in his formal tone, completely ignoring the students. "I am here for your peer review. Standard procedure for all junior teachers, Professor Burbage. Headmistress Umbridge should have told you." With no more explanation, he sat in a vacant chair at the back of the classroom and looked up at her expectantly. Charity stood silent, still trying to figure out what was going on when he added, "Please continue."

Charity continued with her lecture as if he wasn't there (as if that was remotely possible, but she did her best). In the last ten minutes of class she gave the students time to do a worksheet matching the Muggle vaccine with the injection site - bicep, shoulder or bottom - while she walked around and checked their work.

She allowed herself to glance at Snape with just a few minutes left of class and saw that he was staring at her. His face was ever the stony picture of reserve, but she, and probably only she, could detect the smallest trace of a smile cross onto his lips as he locked his eyes on her. The smile that suddenly lit up her face was much easier to see and she held his gaze as she continued her slow roam around the classroom. She somehow knew from that look that everything was okay between the two of them. Better than okay. She held Snape's gaze, oblivious to everything else around her, until she knocked into poor Lucas Snively's desk just as the bell sounded to signify the end of class. She helped Lucas pick up his pencils and books, and by the time the commotion of departing students had cleared, Snape was gone.


	11. The Truth Will Out

Chapter 11

The Truth Will Out

Most of the school holed in during the week of exams. Students ripped themselves from their studies only to take tests or briefly seek nourishment in the Great Hall at meal time. At last they all came together at supper on the evening of the final exam. Typically this would be a jovial time for everyone, a time to let off some steam after the intensity of the exams, but tonight the mood in the room was different. Most of the students seemed happy enough, but an uneasiness settled over them as they glanced at the vacant seats at the staff table. In addition to Dumbledore still being gone, Professors Hagrid and McGonagall were also missing. The previous evening, Umbridge had taken it upon herself to arrest Hagrid. Somebody had been setting niffler's loose in her office to forage through her shiny items, and she'd pinned the caper on the gamekeeper. Luckily, the half giant had repelled his attackers and escaped, but McGonagall had been severely stunned trying to protect him and sent to St. Mungo's, the hospital for magical maladies.

Professor Umbridge was also absent from the Great Hall. Charity had seen her on the way down to dinner, but the headmistress must have become distracted. In addition, Professor Snape was called away just as dinner was served, and he never returned. The remaining staff members ate their supper in silence at the half empty table. Charity never missed Dumbledore more than she did that evening. With him there, everyone would have felt happy and secure. As it was, leaving Hogwarts for summer break was going to feel more like escaping.

At the end of the meal Professor Flitwick, the most senior professor present, stood on his chair and announced rather awkwardly, "Well then, off to bed with you."

The next morning Charity slept in and very leisurely got herself up and dressed. Her only plan for the day was to read a good book under a tree on the grounds and simply chill out with the students. As she headed toward the third floor staircase she ran into a very welcome surprise.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she shrieked and flew at the tall wizard. She wrapped a violent hug around him as he gently patted her back and lowered her down to the floor. He was surprisingly strong for a man of his age. Recollecting herself, Charity blushed and said, "I'm so sorry. I'm just…I'm just so happy to see you!"

"The feeling is entirely mutual, my dear," he said sincerely. "Now, if you'll pardon my rudeness, I must be off immediately. Do see if you can get someone to fill you in on the events of last night," he called to her as he made his hurried way down the steps.

Charity looked around madly for just this someone. She made it all the way out onto the grounds without success, and as she looked at the excitedly chattering students, she realized that yet again she was the absolute last to know. She slowly backed her way into the castle, filled with a kind of dread. She was used to being in the dark compared to the rest of the staff, but to resort to getting information from students, well, that was simply too much pride to swallow, even for Charity. She now became desperate for the information, but had absolutely no good idea about how to get it.

As she walked down a corridor she heard a firm, "Giddy up," and horse hooves pounded away through the portraits lining the hall. This gave her an idea, and she ran to Filch's broom cupboard, grabbed a cleaning cloth, and set off to find an unoccupied corridor. This did not prove difficult since most of the students were outside enjoying the beautiful June weather. Charity menacingly waved the scrub cloth and intimidated seven men who were enjoying a hearty dinner in a portrait on the first floor into spilling all they knew.

Their story was fascinating. There'd been a scuffle of some magnitude at the Ministry of Magic the prior evening involving Harry Potter and a handful of other students. Rumor was, members of the legendary Order of the Phoenix and several Death Eaters had also been there. Sirius Black had come out of hiding and ended up dead. The surprising thing was, Black had apparently been fighting for the Order and not the Death Eaters. The rumor mill was also full of stories about a prophecy linking young Potter with the Dark Lord. The most chilling part of the story, however, was that Voldemort had most definitely returned to full power, and several witnesses had seen him in the Ministry!

"Dumbledore was telling the truth the whole time," Charity murmured.

"Well of course he was," grouched one of the men in the portrait.

On the bright side, Umbridge had been relieved of her duties at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore was reinstated as Headmaster. Charity was also relieved to note that by no account was Severus Snape involved in the scuffle at the Ministry.

A few days later, as Charity was heading down a first floor corridor, two large boys, who she recognized as Slytherins, waddled past her. They were loaded down with a tartan carpet bag and cloak. Charity rushed in the direction from which they had come and found herself at the top of the marble staircase that led down to the entrance hall. She hurried down the steps, squeaking, "I knew that bag and cloak could only belong to one certain person!"

Standing in the entrance hall was Professor McGonagall, who appeared to be having a tense conversation with Professor Snape.

"Severus," admonished Charity. "You're not giving Minerva a hard time are you? Honestly, she's just returned from the hospital."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows at Snape, clearly waiting for his retort. When the only response he gave before exiting was, "Yes, well, pleasure to have you back Professor McGonagall," she turned her eyebrows, still stuck high on her forehead, toward Charity.

Charity ignored the expression and put her arm through Professor McGonagall's, saying, "Let me help you up the stairs." She conspiratorially added, "I've got so much news to fill you in on." Charity was eager to prove herself in-the-know for once, but when McGonagall gave her a thin-lipped smile and what Charity read as a pitying look, she said, "Oh, you already know everything don't you? Ah, well, maybe you can tell _me_ a few things," and led her off. McGonagall kept the conversation pointedly on the weather.

The Great Hall was decorated in green and silver, Slytherin house colors, for the end of term feast. It wasn't surprising that Slytherin had won the House Cup. They were an ambitious, if not always ethical, lot and had spent quite a bit of the year sucking up to Umbridge; the points they had accumulated while doing so had proven insurmountable. The mood at the Slytherin table was short of jubilant, however, because as it turned out, the father of a prominent Slytherin student had been arrested as a Death Eater that night at the Ministry.

Charity couldn't have cared less who won the House Cup; she was just thrilled to have the Great Hall feeling like it used to, with Dumbledore and everyone else back. Even Trelawney, who had been reinstated as Professor of Divination, came down to join them. The food was delicious, as usual. When everyone was stuffed and the food had disappeared, all heads turned towards Professor Dumbledore, who had risen to his feet. He surveyed the room like a proud father looking down on his many children.

"I think," he began, "with all the learning that has occurred within these walls this year there, is one lesson, perhaps, that stands out among the rest, and it is this – that adults, even those in authority," he said with a glance toward Umbridge's empty chair, "aren't infallible.

"You have learned that, although it is important to respect authority, it is equally important to recognize when that authority has gone astray. I am very sorry that you've had to learn that in the way you did, but I daresay you're coming away from the experience stronger. You have all made me so proud with your perseverance.

"A large group of you, who've flattered me by calling yourselves Dumbledore's Army, have proven that you are both able and willing to take matters into your own hands when the situation call for it." He bowed his head in respect as he said this, and his blue eyes glistened.

"Others it seems," he continued, turning his gaze toward the Slytherin table, "chose to follow a different path, an easier path. Giving in to authority when it has, shall we say, run amuck, gives honor to no one. Not to worry, however, we all make mistakes and we can only hope that you've come out of the situation the wiser. We have all been given the gift of free will; therefore, we are not doomed to repeat our own mistakes nor the mistakes of our parents. Instead we must learn from them and make better choices for ourselves."

Dumbledore now turned his head once again to the room at large and said, "Now, it brings me great sadness to tell you that you are all going to be asked to grow up sooner than your young years would indicate. What we have known for a year – that Voldemort has returned to power – is now accepted throughout the magical world, and our lives will undoubtedly change because of it. We are at war students," he said with great gravity. There was no twinkle in his eye but a steady gaze that somehow took in the whole room at once. "A war that is very clearly Good versus Evil. It's a war that your parents and grandparents fought before many of you were even born, but we must fight it again. It's a terrifying thought to be sure, but not to worry, because we have something now that we didn't have last time." Soft murmurs of speculation rumbled quietly throughout the large room, and then Dumbledore said simply, "You." Silence ensued and all heads snapped towards the headmaster.

"That's right," he continued, looking out at the surprised faces with the familiar twinkle back in his eyes. "You are the new generation that has already shown great heart and courage. I sleep easier knowing we have _you_ on our side." He beamed at the students, while the students looked around at each other with expressions comprising both surprise and pride.

Hagrid must have caught the terrified look that had crept into Charity's face at Dumbledore's mention of war, because the moment she set her hand on the table, it disappeared under his as he leaned in and told her, "Don' worry, Professor Burbage. Now tha' them gits at the Ministry are finally listenin' to Dumbledore, good things will start happenin.' Tha's righ'," he said as he painfully patted Charity's hand. "We got Dumbledore."

Charity covered one of his knuckles with her other hand and said with a wink, "We've got you too, Hagrid."

Hagrid reached his free hand into his pocket and pulled out his Pocket Dragon, which was no bigger than his smallest fingernail, and said, "An' I have this," as he returned Charity's wink. Charity was happy to note that the Muggle luck charm appeared to be working at last, and Hagrid's sores were healing. She felt a rush of affection for the big man and a new wave of fury at Umbridge for how she'd treated him.

It was a blessing that these ominous events had occurred at the end of the school year, when students could return to the comforts of their homes and families to digest the implications. Charity herself was looking forward to a respite with her mum and dad in their comfortable home on Highbury Street for the next couple of months.


	12. Star Parties

Chapter 12

Star Parties

Charity returned to Hogwarts the following school year with a renewed energy. She and her parents had spent the last month of their summer holiday in Egypt. Mr. Weasley had spoken so glowingly of a trip there with his family a few years ago, that she decided to convince her parents to make the trip. While in Egypt, Charity had been amazed by what the Muggles had accomplished in building the pyramids so many thousands of years ago. Of course, it was generally accepted in the wizarding community that an ancient magical people were responsible for the structures. Charity, however, did not subscribe to that theory, even after noticing the magical curses that had clearly been placed on many of the tombs. In fact, she planned to add an entire unit on ancient Egypt to her Muggle Studies curriculum.

It had been nice to escape the gloom that had set upon England after the sighting of Voldemort and the re-organization of the Death Eaters. The only negative for Charity and her parents had been returning to find their home and all of its contents turned a dull shade of orange. It was the result of a faulty Protection Powder that Mr. Burbage had purchased and sprinkled around the perimeter of the house to keep it safe from intruders while they were away. Bnickel still carried an orangish tinge around his nose and the pads of his feet. It was more evidence that the wizards of Highbury Street had been wise to maintain the charms that protected the avenue from Muggle view. The charms weren't foolproof, and occasionally a Muggle child would chase a stray ball onto the street or a dog would lead his Muggle up their sidewalk, but on the whole, orange houses generally escaped Muggle cognizance.

At the beginning-of-the-year staff meeting, Charity presented the professors with a donation made in each of their names to a fund for the restoration of Egyptian pyramids, a Muggle foundation. Dumbledore then gave the surprising news that Snape was taking on the perennially vacated position in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Potions would now be taught by Professor Slughorn, a portly, bald man who was an old colleague of Dumbledore's. Dumbledore went on to explain that, although Hogwarts had always maintained superior levels of security, there would be some new procedures this year. The Ministry of Magic had produced a missive outlining special safety precautions; some of which had already been in place at the school. The Ministry was now under the leadership of Rufus Scrimgeour; Cornelius Fudge had been summarily sacked once the wizarding world had opened their eyes to his obsession with self preservation and decided that he was clearly not the man to lead them during these troubled times. Scrimgeour was a lion of man and a much stronger leader. It was his administration that put out the following regulations:

_--**ISSUED ON BEHALF OF**--_

**_The Ministry of Magic_**

_PROTECTING SCHOOL, STUDENTS AND FACULTY AGAINST DARK FORCES_

_The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, fellow students, faculty and the school from attack._

_Students are not permitted to leave the castle without express permission of a teacher and must be accompanied by an adult staff member when they do._

_Staff members are advised not to leave the castle alone._

_Students are to remain in their house dorms after dark and in their beds after hours._

_Staff members are advised to remain indoors after dark._

_Agree on security questions with house mates (for students) and fellow faculty members (for staff) so as to detect anyone who might want to masquerade as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion._

_Should you feel that a fellow student, faculty member, or other staff member is acting in a strange manner, notify your head of house (unless that is the faculty member acting strangely, in which case you should go directly to the headmaster)._

_Should the Dark Mark appear on the grounds or anywhere visible from the grounds, report it to your head of house or the head master immediately._

Dumbledore also reviewed new protections that had been placed on Hogwarts over the summer, including several anti-intruder jinxes. What Dumbledore didn't address was his right hand, which appeared to be seriously injured. It was completely black and hung limply at Dumbledore's side, as if no longer of use. When Professor Sprout finally asked him about it, Dumbledore only said, "It's no secret that I'm getting on in years, and well, these things will happen."

After the meeting, both Charity and Snape lingered in the staff lounge as the others cleared out. Charity busied herself with making a cup of tea in one of the stained lounge mugs, while Snape sat back in a shabby chair looking through some papers. He didn't realize that he'd just won Charity a few gold galleons simply by being at Hogwarts – her father had bet his money that Snape would be "out running around with his old boss You-Know-Who."

"Easy money," Charity had told him; her father didn't know Snape the way she did. When the door shut behind the last to depart, Charity strolled towards Snape and said, "Congratulations on D.A.D.A. I hope this means the curse has ended." Every year since anyone could remember the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts would either resign, become disabled, or die under the most bizarre circumstances. Snape did look paler than usual.

"Remains to be seen," he answered, looking up from his papers. There was nothing in the words themselves; it was the tone of his deep voice and the fact that his eyes stayed on her and didn't stray back to his papers that encouraged her.

"So, how was your summer?" she asked.

"Eventful," he answered. The long pause that followed clearly indicated that he would not be providing any details on the events that had made the summer so eventful. "A bit lonely though," he finally added with a meaningful look that made Charity's face light up. They stood looking silently at each other in this way when Dumbledore re-entered the room. Charity nearly spilled her tea as she abruptly turned around, and Snape busied himself with his papers again.

With a quick, "Nice to be back!" to Dumbledore, Charity exited the room.

The first weeks of school were very busy for Charity. Dumbledore had upheld Umbridge's Muggle Studies requirement for all third years, thus increasing her class load significantly. Along with the additional work, Charity faced two other new adjustments. One adjustment was having equal representation of the four houses of Hogwarts in her classes. Prior to this year, her class was attended primarily by Hufflepuffs with a sprinkling of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. Never had a Slytherin voluntarily signed up for Muggle Studies. Her new schedule accommodated two third year sections – one attended by Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and the other by Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. It only took a few sessions for Charity to note each house's overriding characteristics, and she began to think that the old, decrepit Sorting Hat might actually know what it was doing.

Any honest teacher will tell you that, despite their best efforts, they can't help but have favorites among their students. Probably it was because they had always dominated her classes, but whatever the reason, Charity had a definite affinity toward the Hufflepuffs. They were good natured, hard working, and always very respectful. She felt certain she would have been sorted into Hufflepuff had she attended Hogwarts; therefore, she took it personally every time a Slytherin teased a Hufflepuff or stuck a flobberworm down one of their shirts.

The other adjustment for Charity was having so many Muggle-borns in her classes. This posed a bit of a challenge because most of them tended to think it was a waste of time for them to be there. She soon learned to involve these students more in the classroom and discovered what an asset Muggle-borns could be. For example, one day she brought in a PlayStation to demonstrate what Muggle children did in their spare time. She'd had to use magic to actually start the thing, and Professor Flitwick needed to cast several charms around it to keep the controls from going berserk amongst all the magical interference in the castle. Charity wasn't sure Flitwick's charms had entirely worked when she started playing a game against her opponent, Stewart Ackerley, a Muggle-born Ravenclaw.

"Why does my player keep jumping? I can't make him go forward!" she'd shouted in frustration as she randomly pressed buttons and shook her controller.

Meanwhile, Ackerley's player was positively pummeling hers. He exclaimed, "Yes!" every time he scored a point, which was about every five seconds. Apparently his controls were in fine working order.

"Stewart," she said, giving him a sideways glance. "Do you think you'd be able to explain to the rest of the class how to do what you're doing?"

"Sure," he said, shrugging his shoulders and scoring again. Then he expertly shared with the class what each button did and even divulged a bit of strategy. Eventually even the students who grew up in wizard homes became quite adept with the controller and seemed enthralled with this everyday Muggle game. It was a rare opportunity for Muggle-borns to introduce wizard kids to something amazing.

By the end of the month, an overworked Charity was very much looking forward to Professor Sinstra's and Firenze's celestial party. Inspired by the success of the meteor shower viewing last spring, Sinistra and Firenze had decided to continue with a monthly gathering to observe the heavens. Although a little odd, Firenze was one of the bravest creatures Charity knew. He'd already been ostracized by the other Centaurs because of his association with wizards, and here he was trying to pull the two species even closer together by sharing the Centaurian secrets of the celestial heavens.

In light of the new security regulations, the professors gathered at the top of the Astronomy tower rather than on school grounds on the last Saturday of September. Tonight they were expecting a lunar eclipse. One of the reasons Charity was looking so forward to the party was because she often thought of her progress with Snape at the meteor shower, and was anxious to keep moving in the same direction. Perhaps they could linger behind the others or sneak down the tower's stairs for a private conversation. The possibilities swirled in Charity's head as she happily packed a basket of ingredients for a new 'Muggle Potion' she'd discovered over the summer, but she was disappointed when Snape never appeared on the tower that night. Nevertheless, she and the attending teachers had a good time. Flitwick turned out to be a master of impersonations – he did a killer Filch – and Madam Hooch kept them all in stitches with her stories of student mishaps during the first weeks of flying lessons. By the time the eclipse rolled around, it was almost like an afterthought (to all but Firenze, of course).

The next day Charity caught Snape in the hallway after dinner. "We missed you last night," she said to him brightly. Snape looked down his prominent nose at her without comprehension. "At the celestial party – we missed you. It was very fun--" she started to explain.

"Professor Burbage," Snape cut her off coolly, "I've other things to occupy me now, and I won't have time for the _silliness_ of last year."

This icy response was completely unexpected by Charity. She immediately felt the impact of his insult and reacted without thinking. "Oh, silliness was it?" she snapped at him. "Well, I'll give you _silliness_!" she shouted, turned, and promptly - and completely unintentionally – forcibly knocked into one of the torches lining the wall. The flame tipped sideways and lit the shoulder of Charity's cape on fire. She squeaked and drenched the flames with a water charm (a little something she'd picked up from Fleur during her dragon fight). She then quickly composed herself and carried her dripping body down the hall with her scarlet red face resolutely pointed straight ahead and away from Snape.

Charity was shocked by Snape's rudeness. I seemed as if all the progress she'd made with him last year had slipped away over the long summer months he'd had to harden himself back up. But what about the teacher's lounge? Had she just imagined that he'd meant her when he'd described his summer as lonely? Shaking it off, she figured that she'd brought him around before and could certainly do it again. Once she'd cooled down, she regretted reacting so hotly towards him in the hallway. That was certainly no way to win him back.

Over the next few weeks, Charity took what opportunities she could to revive her relationship with Snape. All efforts failed. Playful looks went unreturned and invitations went unanswered. She started to consider that perhaps most of her prior relationship with Snape had only existed in her imagination and reluctantly gave up the pursuit as a bad job for the time being. Fortunately, Charity didn't have much time to dwell on Snape's new attitude, because she was knee deep in three different units of study with her classes.

The monthly star parties took on a more somber tone as the year progressed. The increasingly odd happenings in the wizarding world were hitting closer to home. One of Charity's former students, Hannah Abbot, had been taken from school because her mother had been found dead under bizarre circumstances, almost certainly the work of Death Eaters. And an older student, Katie Bell, had been cursed on her way back from Hogsmeade on a student visiting day to the village.

"Why would they want to target Katie Bell?" Madam Hooch wondered aloud at the top of the Astronomy tower in October.

"McGonagall reckons she wasn't the target. She'd been Imperiused and didn't know what she was doing. She was merely carrying the cursed item back with her and touched it quite by accident," Professor Flitwick informed them.

"Would the item have made it past Mr. Filch's detectors?" Charity asked.

"Who knows," was the general consensus. Either way, it certainly seemed as if someone had made a deliberate effort to harm Hogwarts students.

Each month, the professors' conversation inevitably turned toward speculation regarding Dumbledore's injured hand. This speculation never developed into much, however, since Snape and McGonagall, the two professors most likely to know anything, never attended the parties. Snape was back to his old anti-social self, and McGonagall was much too busy filling in as headmistress since Dumbledore was away from the castle more and more often these days (yet another topic for speculation). When the professors gathered in November to view the comets Hale-Bopp and Tabur, they dragged Madame Pomfrey up from the infirmary to interrogate her.

"Don't know anything more about it than you do. He's never brought the matter to _my_ attention," Pomfrey sniffed.

"Well, surely you've seen similar cases…" Professor Vector led her.

Pomfrey hesitated for a few minutes, then answered, "I've never seen the like with students, mind, but I studied plenty at the healer academy…" They all waited, holding their collective breath for her diagnosis. "Deadening of certain limbs has been known to occur with wizards who reach very old ages. Dumbledore is old, but not really old enough for us to expect his limbs to start falling off…although he's certainly experienced enough for five hundred years, so maybe. Animal bites are another possibility. I'm just not aware of any that will turn black like that…dragons' are usually green…unicorns, when they do bite, usually leave a lovely rainbow…" Once Madame Pomfrey got rolling, it became clear that she had already put quite a bit of thought into the matter. Her face clouded over when she reached the final possibility. "Curses will kill off any part of the body immediately and there's no cure for them," she said gravely.

"But who could curse Dumbledore?" asked a panicked Professor Sprout.

"You-_know-_ who!" answered Professor Sinistra, a note of panic in her voice as well.

"Could they have done battle this summer and we wouldn't have heard about it?" asked Charity.

"I don't see how it could be a curse, though," continued Madam Pomfrey, who didn't appear to have heard anything they'd said. "Usually, when a curse kills of a part of the body, it kills the rest of the body along with it. Maybe not right away with a powerful wizard like Dumbledore, but it's been months now. Surely he'd be dead by now if it was a curse." A palpable wave of relief cascaded over the professors at these reassuring words, but they were still no closer to having any idea what exactly had happened to Dumbledore's hand.

1 Regulations are adapted from text in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling, pp. 42-43


	13. Slytherins

Chapter 13

Slytherins

Charity returned to her office one December day to find an important-looking envelope on her desk. It was thick and purple with a gold wax seal bearing the initials HC. She opened the envelope to find an elaborate invitation to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party. It was to take place in his office on the last evening of the term, the night before everyone departed for the Christmas holiday. On the corner of Charity's invitation was scribbled a note:

Tell your father that cocktails will begin at 20:00 sharp. Black tie optional.

She flipped over the envelope to examine it more closely and first noticed that it had been addressed to:

Mr. Ralph Burbage and guest

Well, that made more sense. Professor Slughorn hadn't given Charity so much as a fleeting glance until Professor Flitwick had asked Charity about an acquisition her father's company was considering. Slughorn had turned to her with a new interest and said, "You mean to tell me you are Burbage as in daughter of Ralph Burbage? CFO Lailoken Publishing - U.K. Division?"

"Yes," Charity had answered.

"Well, my dear, why didn't you tell me? Oh, if your father and I could put our…what do the Muggles call them…rolodexes together…" he had salivated.

Charity was the ticket Slughorn needed to make yet more connections in the publishing industry. She was surprised when her father actually agreed to come to the party. She'd never heard her father speak of Horace Slughorn in anything other than a disdainful tone. He seemed to think of Slughorn as something of an opportunistic blowhard. Now that she'd seen Slughorn in action, she doubted that her conservative father would approve of his extravagant lifestyle either. Then she realized that the real reason her father had accepted the invitation was so that he'd be able to escort his daughter home for the holidays in an increasingly dangerous atmosphere.

Mr. Burbage opted out of the black tie and instead wore a very smart looking grey wool cloak to the party. Charity felt proud to have him at her side as they entered Slughorn's crowded office. She did not recognize most of the faces. The sheer size of the gathering gave Charity an appreciation of Slughorn's influence in the wizarding world. How on earth did he get all of these presumably important people to come all the way out to Hogwarts for his little soiree?

"Not surprised to see Slughorn's secured himself the most spacious accommodations," Mr. Burbage observed above the noise of several competing conversations. "This has got to be at least triple the size of your office."

"Yeah it is," Charity commented as she gazed around open-mouthed at the mass of festive bodies clustered into the large and suspiciously tall room. Slughorn even had a type of three-piece orchestra crammed into a far corner. Everyone and everything in the room took on an unnatural pallor in the dim lighting that reflected the dark red and green velvet draped around the room. Charity couldn't help but feel that insincerity hung in the room as thick as any of the decorations.

Slughorn emerged from the crowd soon after their arrival. Her father's eyes widened at Slughorn's tasseled velvet hat, but he was cordial, and after Slughorn complemented him on his delightful daughter, Charlotte, he allowed Slughorn to coax him across the room to meet some important people. Charity was left standing alone and grabbed a sparkling red drink from a wobbling tray as it passed near her. When she turned to see if there was anyone at all that she knew, she was surprised to see Snape standing no more than five feet from her. '_Since when did he become social?_' she wondered. Snape looked equally surprised to see her. '_Probably doesn't think I'm important enough to be here,'_ Charity presumed. In truth, she wasn't important enough to be there, but her father was, and none of it was Snape's business anyway.

"Merry Christmas Professor Snape," she said as warmly as she could muster.

In typical fashion, Snape gave her a curt nod and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Charity became desperate to find someone to talk to and spotted Professor Trelawney leaning against a wall not too far away. She debated the relative evils of Trelawney's sherry-induced prophetic ramblings versus fighting her way through the crowd to find her father. Her father had gone in the opposite direction of Snape, so that made her choice easier. As she slowly made her way through the stuffy room, she passed trays and trays of fancy tartlets and pates. She thought how much more she would have preferred a big slab of triple layer chocolate cake just then.

At last she found her father, who introduced her to the man he was talking to - a Hector Smimby who claimed to have done undercover work for the Ministry in the past. She hoped the information he'd uncovered wasn't too terribly important since he appeared to be blabbing it all over the party. Charity stood quietly next to her father and absentmindedly gazed around the room. Mr. Smimby's voice became nothing more than a low drone mingling with all the other noises in the room. Through the sea of coiffed heads, Charity detected a pale face with long black hair across the room. He was looking in her direction. She momentarily locked eyes with Snape and saw something there that reminded her of the way he used to look at her. Her heart did a backflip, but no sooner had it righted itself than Snape turned abruptly away. She'd accepted weeks ago that Snape no longer wanted to be her friend, but why couldn't he even look at her?

The room suddenly became suffocating. The door was only a few feet away, and the cool hallway full of unshared air beckoned. Charity excused herself and walked out of Slughorn's office and into the deserted corridor. Moving away from the din of the party, she was able to wonder in peace why exactly Snape found her so abhorrent.

Was it just a coincidence that his new attitude had arrived just as he started teaching about the Dark Arts? She didn't think so. Spending so much time immersed in the dark subject must be getting to him, drudging up suppressed feelings and desires. Did he now regret that he'd shown Charity his Dark Mark last year? Did he worry that she knew too much? (That would be a first.) Charity began to consider that maybe, maybe, _maybe_ her father had been right about Snape. But if she could honestly think this about him, then why, when she'd had briefly caught Snape's eye across the room, did she flash an image of the two of them alone in a dark corner under the mistletoe? And why couldn't she stop wishing it was more than just an image…

As she walked along, lost in these thoughts, her attention was caught by the painting of the ten girls having tea. She had all but forgotten about this painting that had been her reprieve two years ago when she was busy cleaning the castle with Filch in preparation for the Triwizard Tournament. The girls were scurrying about the room in which they were painted, making preparations for Christmas. They were busy hanging tea cups and candies on a pine tree that was propped at the edge of the room. Charity noticed that there were no corners in the room; the walls were rounded, suggesting that this room was located in a tower somewhere. Her eyes traveled over the canvas and she saw that the girls had also fashioned a crèche out of tea spoons and pinecones on the oak sideboard. The cake had been pushed to the edge of the table.

"Hey, I was just thinking about chocolate cake," Charity said aloud.

"Oh, hello!" one of the girls turned and said to her. "Merry Christmas."

"Yes, yes, Merry Christmas!" chimed in the others.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Charity. "Pretty tree."

"Why thank you dear. We use what we have, you know," replied the dark-eyed girl as she looped a tea-cup handle onto a branch.

"You had a tree?" Charity asked.

"_That_ we borrowed from the painting of the Black Forest two floors up," explained a fair complected girl with auburn curls. "The trolls hiding among the trees are really quite generous when you get to know them." Charity imagined that these charming girls never had much trouble getting exactly what they wanted. Her shoulders slumped when she thought of how much she'd rather join them in the painting than go back to Slughorn's party.

"Why do you look so forlorn," asked a small sprightly girl.

"Do I? Well, I'm just confused about a boy, er, man," answered Charity.

"Hmph, sounds about right," sniffed the dark-eyed girl. "Notice there are no boys or men invited _here_."

Just as she finished her sentence, a stout grey pony carrying an armour-clad knight galloped into the frame. Sir Cadogan held his large sword aloft with a twig of mistletoe speared through the tip. "Greetings fair maidens…"

"Oh, Cadogan…" said the sprightly girl in a sing-songy voice as she wielded the fireplace poker.

"Shoving off…shoving off," he called as he clicked his metal heels into the pony and rode out of the painting. Charity laughed. Her spirits had lifted after talking with the girls and she decided it was time to return to the party and steal her father away.

Charity wasn't as excited to return to her students as she usually was after the holiday break. With the introduction of Slytherins to Muggle Studies, a definite anti-Muggle sentiment had found its way into Charity's classroom. Many of the Slytherin students came from families who valued the maintenance of so-called pure blood status, or magical-only ancestry; therefore; many of the Slytherin families did not welcome Muggle-borns, much less Muggles, into the wizarding world.

A few Slytherins here and there were very nice kids, but for the most part, they tended to be an arrogant, mean-spirited lot. Once Charity actually caught a few Slytherins trying to slip poisonous belledonna leaves in with Bnickel's food! As Charity had learned at her first Sorting ceremony, the character trait most valued in the Slytherin house was ambition. Ambition often meant seeking power, and in Charity's studies she'd found that seeking power for power's sake rarely led to anything good. Unfortunately, if Charity wanted to increase the exposure of Muggle Studies, she was going to have to deal with the insolent behavior of the Slytherin students, Malcolm Baddock in particular.

It was no coincidence that Snape was head of Slytherin house. Although Charity understood the natural disposition of these students, she couldn't help but think that someone was egging them on. She was convinced that the darker side of Snape, which had drawn him to Voldemort in the first place, was reawakening. She never for a moment actually believed that he would ever re-join the Death Eaters, but reckoned that his internal struggle with these dark tendencies had led to his increasingly foul temper. Charity's natural inclination was to help him, but she'd been rebuffed enough times to know that any such attempt would not be worth the effort. Instead she told herself that Snape's state of mental well-being was none of her concern. On the other hand, if his unrest was causing him to pit his students against her, then she had every right to be concerned, and so she kept a sharp eye out for evidence that Snape was behind the disruptive behavior.

Charity was horrified during her third year class's study of the Holocaust when two Slytherins, Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard, showed up bearing Swastikas on their arms. At first she didn't notice because their robes covered it up, but half way through class they casually let their robes fall to the side, exposing the foul symbol.

She told them tersely, "Cover your arms." With a sneer and a superior look around the classroom, they did. At the end of class, she held them back and marched them directly to Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Snape had been sitting at his desk writing, but he stood up when the small group entered without knocking. It was Charity's first time visiting his new upstairs classroom, and as she angrily approached him, she was distracted by the sight of hideous posters on the walls. The pictures displayed witches and wizards in various stages of pain and dismemberment.

"Oh, Severus," she murmured with disgust. Did he enjoy looking at these images? "Way to cheer up the place."

"The Dark Arts is not a _cheery_ subject," he replied.

"Well then, the two of you make the perfect couple, don't you?" Charity said with an edge to her voice. Snape glared hotly at her and she at him. Baddock and Pritchard wore self-satisfied grins as they closely watched Snape, clearly eager for him to put their Muggle Studies teacher in her place.

Snape's eyes flicked from Charity's toward the students and then back again. "Good one, Professor Burbage, but I'm assuming pithy conversation isn't the reason you came to visit?" he said in measured tones.

Charity swiftly pulled the boys' robes aside, exposing the symbol and asked, "Do you know what this is?"

Snape looked impassively at the symbols and said, "Yes."

"Well, do you think it's appropriate for these boys to be wearing them to MY CLASS or anywhere else for that matter? Particularly when we are studying the horrors that this very symbol stands for?" she said, her voice shaking.

"Heh," let out one of the boys along with his sneer, as if he expected Snape to be proud of him.

Snape silenced the boy with a cold glare and said to Charity, "Of course it is not appropriate."

"Well, they will both be having detention with ME this evening but I thought as head of house you may want to ensure that this type of thing NEVER happens again!" Charity threw the boys' robes down to cover the symbols and stormed out of the classroom, stopping and turning at the door to say, "Oh, and FIFTY points from Slytherin!" Snape didn't argue with her.

Charity took a few angry steps down the hall before deciding against leaving entirely just yet. She quietly walked back toward the classroom and stood just outside the doorway so that Snape and the boys couldn't see her. She waited in silence, ready to pounce the second she caught Snape encouraging the students against her.

She heard ripping fabric as Snape said, "These are never to be worn or seen in this school again, do you understand?"

"Yeah, but –" came Baddock's insolent voice.

"But what? I don't know what you were thinking," berated Snape.

"Well, they just seemed cool, you know like the Dark Mark," explained a voice Charity recognized as Pritchard's.

Snape sighed deeply and said evenly, "I assure you, there is nothing _cool_ about either."

"Yeah, well, her class is so stupid and useless and we thought for once we could make it a little _interesting_."

"You may not agree with Professor Burbage's position on Muggles," Snape said firmly to the students, "but she is an excellent teacher and a fine person. As a professor here at Hogwarts, she deserves every bit the same amount of respect that you give me." Charity's heart leapt at this unexpected praise.

"You would do well to stop taking orders from Misters Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle and start taking them from actual authorities, such as myself and your other professors," Snape said and then dismissed them. Charity backed into a nearby recess in the wall as the two boys walked past grumbling. When they were a safe distance away and it appeared that Snape was not to emerge, she walked back to her room filled with a new hope. Later that night Malcolm and Graham learned a little something about humility when they scoured Bnickel's cage while the master of the cage watched over them, resting snuggly on Charity's lap.

Charity's new hope was dashed, but not entirely extinguished, the very next morning when she approached Snape in the staff room to thank him for taking care of the matter. He'd simply responded, "I was only doing my job," and stalked off. The words were cold, but his voice hadn't been. Add to that the fact that he'd come round to the teacher's lounge for the first time in months, and Charity wondered if he was beginning to soften. The problem was that she was tired of trying to read between Snape's vindictive lines. If he wanted to mend their relationship, he was going to have to do better than '_I was only doing my job_.'


	14. Quidditch and Tea

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Quidditch and Tea

The staff celestial parties took a bit of a raucous turn in the spring. It seemed the stress surrounding the castle was getting to the professors. There was no question that Voldemort was growing in power, and there was nothing that any of them could do to stop it. The hundreds of students at the school were their charge to keep safe, and this was a daunting task. Many of the teachers' usual means of relaxation, such as getting away to Hogsmeade for a pint at the Three Broomsticks, were closed to them, because they needed to remain at the castle for security purposes. The monthly star parties were just about the only opportunity to commiserate and relax a little. As a safety precaution, someone had decided it would be best to hold all parties out on the front lawn, so that the professors would be able to see anyone, or anything, that tried to enter the castle.

Amidst a great deal of voluble chatter on an unseasonably warm April evening, Vector spotted Snape slinking across the grounds. When Snape realized he'd been seen by the group, he claimed he'd only come out to ask them to keep their volume down, but everyone seemed to suspect otherwise, even though they didn't say it. The planet they'd been viewing faded from sight soon after Snape had disappeared inside the castle, and the group stumbled into the cavernous entry way. Charity said her good nights and headed up the marble staircase plus two more flights to the third floor. As she passed the trophy room, she saw Snape's shadow in the doorway, and he motioned her in.

'_What's this?_' she wondered.

She stepped into the dark room, which was lit only by the few flickers of torchlight that filtered in from the hall and bounced off the collection of trophies. Half of Snape's angular features were hidden in shadow as he said in a hushed, deep voice, "Professor Burbage, you really ought to be more careful with these little parties of yours."

"_My_ parties? You know that Firenze and Sinistra organize them," she retorted. Charity spoke in a harsh whisper, as if the darkness had swallowed up her full voice.

"_They_ schedule the time, _you_," he said as his one visible eye glanced down at her basket, "are the one who turns them into parties."

"Oh, heaven forbid we get to have a little fun," Charity spat back. "Maybe if you weren't so busy creeping around doing whatever _you _consider fun, you could join us once in a while."

"I assure you, what I am doing is nothing like fun. This really isn't the time or the place for fun. The situation is very serious Professor, and I caution you to –"

Charity's voice rose above a whisper as she cut in, "Well, I am so sorry that we can't all walk around being as morose as you, Severus! What are we supposed to do? Give up who we are because what's-his-face is lurking around? If we do, then he's already won, hasn't he?" she shouted, glaring at him intently. "Well, I won't do it!" Snape was staring at her just as intently, and a fierce glint shone in his dark eyes, even in the weak light. Charity backed toward the door. Her voice dropped down to a near whisper as she told him, "There was a time when I cared very much about what you said – clung to every word. But you changed all that, didn't you? You no longer have any right, Severus, to ask me to listen to you. I suggest you learn to live with that." She was dangerously close to tears and turned toward the doorway and rushed out into the hall before giving Snape the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

In the hall she ran into Peeves, who wanted her to try out a new torture on Mrs. Norris with him. "Sorry Peevesy, not in the mood," Charity told him with a wave of her hand as she rushed past.

She saw Peeves look toward the sound of what she presumed to be Snape's footsteps clicking down the hall in the opposite direction. The next thing she heard was Snape yelling, and she peeked around the corner to see him dripping with hot candle wax. Peeves floated above him, looking at Charity with a huge grin while he held a large, no longer burning candle. Charity gave Peeves a big, wet smile and a thumbs up before practically skipping off to bed.

In May, Charity attended her first ever Hogwarts Quidditch game. There were usually six games played during every school year so that each house team played each of the other house teams once. Quidditch is something like Muggle soccer, except the players fly around on brooms and try to shoot the ball, the Quaffle, through one of three hoops instead of one goal. The Chasers (three per team) are responsible for scoring goals, while the Keeper is responsible for blocking them. Meanwhile, all the players attempt to dodge two renegade balls, called Bludgers, which try to knock them off their brooms. The Bludgers are so lethal that two players on each team, the Beaters, are dedicated to beating them away from their players. Oh, and there's a tiny golden ball with wings that flies around called the Snitch. The player called the Seeker has the job of locating and catching this elusive ball which is worth one hundred and fifty points. The team that catches the snitch nearly always wins the game, since each Quaffle through a goal is only worth ten points. Other than that, Quidditch is _exactly_ like soccer.

The students and staff of Hogwarts turned out in droves for each Quidditch game, regardless of the weather. Charity, having not attended any of the matches thus far, was a definite anomaly. It wasn't that she didn't like Quidditch; she enjoyed a good game and often went to see professional Quidditch games with her father over the summer. At Hogwarts, however, she found the temptation of a practically empty castle or the chance to wander Hogsmeade without running into one of her colleagues too tempting. While Charity was primarily a social being, she did have an independent streak and needed doses of seclusion from time to time. She supposed it might have something to do with growing up an only child. Regardless, Quidditch Saturdays proved the perfect time to be alone.

Her absence from the games didn't go unnoticed, and she was sensing attitude from McGonagall and a few of the other professors. This particular game was the last of the year – Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw - and the winner of the Quidditch Cup would be determined by its result; it seemed as good a time as any for Charity to make her first appearance at a game. As an added bonus, she knew there was little chance of running into Snape, since she'd heard that he'd given the Potter boy detention every Saturday through the rest of the term. A group of Charity's old Hufflepuff students called out to her from the sunny stands, so she went to sit happily with them. She chose not to dwell on the fact that the last time they'd sat together in these stands was the night Cedric Diggory had died. She further tried not to reflect on Hannah Abbott, who'd never returned to school after her mother's death. On a positive note, Katie Bell, the girl who had been cursed earlier in the school year, had recovered and was now streaking about the field in her scarlet Quidditch robes.

Charity was impressed with the quality of flying on the field. She'd only seen professional games up until now and hadn't known what to expect from students. The Quaffle changed hands several times before the gruff-voiced announcer said, "And that's a score for Ravenclaw, as the Gryffindor Keeper completely misses the block." A few seconds later he announced, "Another failed attempt by the Gryffindor keeper," followed by what sounded like meaty fists pounding the table in front of the microphone. "I _told_ them he was no good!" bursted out the announcer.

A softer, dreamier voice now spoke into the microphone, saying, "Careful, Cormac, you'll disturb the Snooglies resting under the table. And we all know what would happen if we set Snooglies loose on a Quidditch pitch." This female voice carried a lilt that may have been a laugh. Meanwhile, the fans in the stands exchanged confused glances and seemed to be stifling giggles.

"I…uh…" said the male announcer, Cormac. Charity now remembered that she'd heard about some problems with the Quidditch announcers this season. To keep things fair, Madame Hooch had decided to use one announcer from each of the opposing teams. Charity was having trouble telling which announcer represented which house, though, because the male announcer constantly berated the strategies of both teams, while the girl seemed to be talking about anything but Quidditch. All in all, Charity figured this was about as unbiased as could be hoped for.

The Gryffindor Keeper made a few more blunders and Katie Bell seemed a bit shell-shocked. The score was soon twenty - eighty, Ravenclaw. Cormac commented, "You really can't expect much more from Gryffindor when the Captain refuses to put the best Keeper on team, lands himself in detention, and then puts a girl in charge to cover for him."

McGonagall could be heard in the background telling Cormac to watch it. Katie Bell, presumably the "girl in charge," turned and glared at him as a hard look of determination set on her face. Bell yelled out a few orders to the team, and the three Chasers swiftly moved the Quaffle down the field to score a succession of goals, quickly bringing the score to one hundred - eighty, Gryffindor.

"Oh, that was exciting!" said the female announcer. She's turned her blonde head toward the crowd, applauding and waving to them.

McGonagall could again be heard, saying, "Luna the game, the game!" McGonagall's voice was somewhat muffled, but the tension in it was loud and clear.

"So, Cormac, wasn't Slughorn's Christmas party nice?" Luna said. She must have been one of the few students Charity had seen in Slughorn's office that night.

"Uh...what...yeah…and Ravenclaw scores _again_ against Gryffindor. I _knew_ it!" Cormac said angrily, but Luna didn't appear to notice.

"You didn't seem to mind girls at all that night. Remember the way you were chasing Hermoine Granger around? I really liked what you did with her hair under the mistletoe," Luna announced to the entire stadium. Now the red-headed Gryffindor Keeper turned and glared at Cormac. The same steely look that had taken over Bell's features consumed the Keeper's as well. He turned his attention back to the game and proceeded to deftly block ninety percent of what came at him. Gryffindor pulled away with the game and was soon dominating with a score of two hundred eighty - one hundred forty, Gryffindor.

The crowd's attention was drawn to the Seekers, who were now frantically searching for the Snitch to end the game. Ravenclaw needed to stem the now flawless goal shooting of the Gryffindor team, while Gryffindor desperately needed to seal the win before the tide turned. The Gryffindor Seeker seemed to have been keeping a sharp eye on the Ravenclaw Seeker throughout the game, and when the golden Snitch appeared just below the blue-clad player, the Gryffindor Seeker became a blur of crimson. She aggressively knocked the Ravenclaw Seeker out of the way, and grabbed the Snitch split seconds after Gryffindor scored two more goals, making the final score four hundred fifty - one hundred forty, Gryffindor. Not only had Gryffindor won the game, they'd scored enough points to earn the Quidditch Cup. Charity thought of how proud Oliver Wood would be.

The bright sunny day and mindless activity of Quidditch watching had been good for Charity's brain. It had cleared it of pointless preoccupations, and Charity felt as if she was thinking more clearly than she had done in a while. She gave a hearty, "Congratulations!" to Professor McGonagall, who was head of Gryffindor house and possibly even more excited than the team, then moved with the masses back into the castle. At the landing for the second floor, she decided against continuing with the throng that was jamming onto the next flight up and opted instead for a lesser known, therefore less crowded, staircase at the other end of the second floor corridor. She crossed the corridor to find nothing but a gaping hole; that particular staircase was off to regions unknown at the moment. Charity turned back to the hall and spied her favorite portrait - the one of the girls having tea. A chat with them seemed a perfectly wonderful way to pass the time until the staircase decided to return, or at least until the other one cleared.

Charity filled the girls in on the more exciting moments of the game. Quidditch was, of course, popular back in the girls' time (which Charity had discovered on a prior visit was about three hundred years ago), but women were not typically players back then, so these girls had mostly enjoyed the sport as spectators, like Charity. She did learn, however, that a few of them had tried their hand at Quidditch in remote fields far from Muggle view. Charity had difficulty picturing any of these proper girls zipping around on broomsticks, with their curls piled high on their heads and their long dresses trailing behind them.

While they were talking, Charity spotted the chocolate cake on the sideboard and suddenly had a very clear realization. "That cake has three layers doesn't it?" she asked.

"Of course – that's why it's called 'Triple Layer Chocolate Cake,'" answered one of the girls.

"It was you!" Charity exclaimed. To the bewildered painted faces, she explained, "Baking Without Magic - it's a cookbook in the school library. Is that where you got the recipe from?" Nine heads turned toward an auburn-haired girl whose face was screwed up in concentration.

"Yes, I think so. It was quite a while ago, but I suppose I had to get the recipe from somewhere," the girl answered.

"I made that cake with my class!" Charity told them. "I used the same recipe – you marked it. Oh, and you left your bookmark in there too, didn't you?" Charity looked around at all of the tea cups, and she first noticed that a few of the girls held long needles and yarn, their fingers subconsciously working. "Of course – _Darjeeling; Topic: Knitting_!"

Charity noticed that several of the girls cast slightly alarmed glances at each other. Suddenly, everyone was very still and no one was talking. "Well, it was yours, wasn't it?" Charity asked the auburn-haired girl, who said nothing and only looked toward three taller girls at the center of the group.

In contrast to her portrait-mates, the small, sprightly girl became visibly excited and beamed at Charity. "Well, aren't you clever?" she said to Charity. Then she turned to the group and said, "Isn't she clever? Oh, couldn't we—"

"No, we could not," the tall dark-haired girl said firmly, cutting her off. "She is _not_ a student; nor do we have any evidence of her lineage."

"Oh come on, Malgy, maybe it's time we relaxed those old rules a bit," sprightly said. The small girl turned her smile toward Charity, saying wistfully, "I like her so much."

"Well, I like her too, but the rules were put in place for a reason…"

Charity listened to this exchange with interest and some confusion. What exactly was the little one proposing? Charity studied the painting closely and noticed a view of a vast forest beyond. The forest in the painting was much shorter and younger than the Forbidden Forest, but could it be…? Further inspection revealed a small shield hanging on the wall with tiny icons of all four Hogwarts houses. This was a room in Hogwarts! A tower room. It seemed very much as if these girls were in some sort of club that had at one time met at Hogwarts, and it seemed as if at least one of them wanted to bend the rules to let Charity in. Did one of the rules include being composed entirely of oil paints?

To be invited into a club with these girls was a welcome idea to Charity. Oddly enough, she was coming to think of them as friends at a time when friends around Hogwarts felt scarce. Charity got on very well with most of the other professors, but her interactions with them had been pretty much limited to the monthly star parties. Besides, she very often felt patronized by the rest of the staff because of her youth and inexperience. Charity had always found great joy in her friendships with her students, however, the increased size of Muggle Studies classes had stretched Charity thin and thus diluted those individual relationships. Charity sighed and reflected that she was probably just in a mood to feel sorry for herself. She knew that she loved being at Hogwarts.

Standing in the deserted hallway, wondering why she was so desperate for a positive verdict from ten girls in a painting, Charity's mind turned to an unavoidable conclusion. She realized that the root cause of her loneliness was the loss of Snape. For all his acerbity, she missed him. Sometimes there are things you just can't explain about what draws you to someone. She was anxious for something to fill the void he had left behind.

Unfortunately, the little sprightly girl lost the debate. She gave Charity an apologetic look and sighed, "Well, just remember – if you're ever in the mood for chamomile—"

"Volicity!" hissed the three taller girls, and sprightly said no more, although she did manage to slip Charity a conspiratorial wink.

Charity whipped her head around as the staircase clunked back into place. As she ascended its steps, she wondered how this could have happened – all she'd ever intended was a little shameless flirtation with Professor Snape, but now it appeared she'd fallen for the git.


	15. The Tallest Tower

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The Tallest Tower

Outside of classwork, Charity spent her last weeks of the school year avoiding Snape and searching towers. She couldn't stop wondering about the girls in the painting. The more she thought about it, the more compelled she became to locate the old meeting spot. The fact that the girls continued to be tight-lipped about the whole thing only made finding the room that much more intriguing. At the very least, this activity gave her mind something new to dwell on. She knew the meeting place had been at Hogwarts, and she knew it had been in a tower, so she spent countless hours stumbling around dark, unused towers and closely examining familiar ones.

Snape's attitude towards Charity, meanwhile, had become pointedly antagonistic, starting with that night in the trophy room. She was actually beginning to miss the days when he'd treated her as nothing more than an unpleasant stain on the wall. There was a particularly nasty incident on Charity's birthday at the beginning of May. The owl post had brought her two packages that morning. The first was a beautiful copper jewelry box with inlaid silver and stones from her parents – "Goblin Made" her mother had told her in the birthday card that accompanied it.

The second was from Oliver Wood. Charity and Wood had kept up a correspondence since they first met at the Yule ball. Knowing her father's love of Quidditch, he'd sent tickets to a Puddlemere game last summer. At the game, Wood surprised them by flying into the stands just before the match began and handing Charity a bouquet of flowers. He'd made such a spectacular and crucial save during the game that he'd earned his new nickname, the Prince of Puddlemere. His package to Charity contained a large aerial pictorial of the _Most Beautiful Quidditch Fields of the World_ and an autographed photo of young Wood in his Puddlemere United uniform.

At the end of the meal, a small cake appeared in front of Charity, and Dumbledore led the whole school in a round of 'Happy Birthday' or whatever each individual chose to sing. It was a loud, happy racket, and put Charity in a chipper mood as she left the Great Hall that morning, presents in tow. She was looking down at the photo of Ollie, thinking what a nice young man he was and how handsome he looked in his Quidditch robes, when Snape passed by. He glanced down at the athletic figure, which was winking and smiling away at Charity.

"You and Wood, hmm?" he sneered unpleasantly.

"We've become friends, yes," Charity answered coldly. "What difference does that make to you?"

"You'll make a striking couple – Beauty and the Dolt."

Charity narrowed her eyes at Snape and continued walking, but he kept pace with her and added, "And what lovely children you'll have. Why, you could make your own Quidditch team - a beautiful, stupid Quidditch team."

Why was he doing this? Rather than snap back, Charity tried to get away by making a sharp turn down the next corridor, but Snape grabbed onto her forearm and pulled her to face him. He was looking right at her, yet it felt as if he was looking through her. How different were their interactions from last year. Charity was suddenly thinking of a friendly conversation they'd once had and fought the urge to shake the Snape now standing in front of her in an effort to bring her old Snape back. Instead, she forced her mind back to the present and wrenched her arm out of his grip.

"That was mean…you're just mean, Severus Snape," she told him shakily. This time he let her walk away. She was upset with herself because she didn't understand why she still let him get to her. She was even more upset by the fact that her brief happy memory with Snape had reopened that aching void that had just started to heal over.

Dark, lonely towers were comparatively attractive to scenes like that one, so Charity continued to haunt them. Her heart sank a bit when she considered that maybe the meeting place from the painting was nothing more than a girls' dorm in either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor tower. She'd been hoping for something more esoteric. She wheedled an invitation to the dorms from students in each of those houses. She was immediately able to cross Ravenclaw Tower off the list of possibilities because that tower had no view of the forest. She then eliminated Gryffindor when she noted that there were no fireplaces in the dorm rooms. Charity's girls most definitely had a fireplace - it provided for the poker with which they chased off Cadogan.

On several occasions she purposely walked past the painting in order to surreptitiously scan for any revealing details, but still the search was fruitless. Not to be discouraged, Charity figured that at the very least she was finally getting a better grasp on the logistics of Hogwarts castle.

*****

Charity's castle wanderings were put on hiatus as end-of-term exams approached. One evening, Charity was huddled in her office, putting the final touches on a fourth year final, when there was a soft knock at her door. She opened it to find Snape standing there. His sharp, pale features seemed shaken and unsure, yet his black eyes remained steady on hers. She returned his silent gaze and noted that the venom of the past several weeks was remarkably absent. He seemed to be searching her eyes and must have found what he was looking for, because without a word and in a single motion, he stepped forward and closed the door with one arm. He wrapped his other around her waist and pulled Charity into a kiss.

Snape's kiss was firm yet his lips were surprisingly soft. All in all, Charity found the sensation to be quite pleasant. Wait! What was she doing? Her hands were on his chest, and she used them to push him back. Snape didn't try to stop her, but he kept his hands around her waist. Breathing heavily, Snape and Charity regarded each other for several charged moments. Charity peered intently into Snape's expectant eyes, trying hopelessly to figure him out. She could see that he was waiting for her to make her decision. It was obvious that he longed to have his mouth back on hers, but he wasn't going to pressure her. She had to give him credit – this was one hell of a lot better than '_I was only doing my job.' _How could she resist?

She lunged back to him, and they were at it again. This time it somehow felt okay, like it was alright for Charity to forget about all the past months of Snape's cruelty and neglect, like she should pull him closer. They stumbled through the grapevine wreath with a breathless "la cucaracha," and slipped onto her sofa with their hearts pressed tightly together. The only words between them for the next while were Snape's barely audible murmurs, "…need you… tonight …my strength…"

Later, as they reclined silently on her sofa, Charity traced her index finger over Snape's sharp features. He certainly had been harshly drawn, but nothing could have looked better to her than him looking at her the way he was just then. He gazed on her, almost with out blinking, as if he wanted to drink her in with his eyes, imprint her lovely image on his brain, and memorize every detail. It was the tenderest of looks, and somewhat disbelieving. His look mimicked how Charity felt – were they really here together, holding each other, throwing off all decorum and inhibitions, simply…in love?

A thousand questions sprang to Charity's head: What had brought about Snape's sudden change in attitude? Why had he gone away in the first place? What was his favorite color? Charity suddenly wanted to know everything about him, but this wasn't the time to ask; she didn't want to break whatever spell they were under. Besides, there would be plenty of time for questions some other day. So she stayed silent with Snape - looking at him, smiling at him, and pelting him with soft kisses. The spell was inevitably broken when a shadow gradually returned to Snape's face.

"There's something I want to make for you," he said. With no further explanation, he sat up, reached for his cloak, and pulled out a small vile labeled 'Asphodel - powdered root'. He borrowed Charity's small copper cauldron and began mixing a few common herbs and a dash of wormwood from her kitchenette with the contents of the vile. Puffy white steam began to rise from the mixture.

Charity walked lazily over and sat on her kitchen stool across the counter from him with her head propped on one hand. She felt calm, content, and a bit tired. Her weariness seemed to increase as the steam grew thicker.

As she watched her potion master through the thickening fog, she reflected on all that she had wondered about him over the past year. Had the lure of Dark Magic really penetrated him at some point? Was that what had taken him away from her? Whatever the case, he'd come round to her now and that was all the evidence she needed to believe that his goodness had won out.

"You're a good man Severus Snape," she murmured sleepily. When Snape gave no response, she felt slightly embarrassed at having said it out loud, so she decided to cover by teasing him. "I don't care what everyone else says."

Staying focused on the potion, Snape murmured under his breath, "If only that were true." By the time he finished saying it, Charity was sound asleep.

*****

Charity forced her eyes open at an urgent knocking at the door of her office. As she roused herself, she also heard commotion in the hallway.

"Professor Burbage, are you in there?" came a stern voice through the door. It was McGonagall. Charity jumped up and wiped drool from her cheek.

"Coming Minerva!" she called. After quickly verifying that Snape was gone and chiding Bnickel not to look at her like that, she dashed into her office and opened the door.

"What is it?" she asked, her curiosity growing as she noticed frantic activity in the hallway.

"Good Heavens, have you been drugged?" asked McGonagall, peering into Charity's eyes. "Hogwarts has been invaded by Death Eaters. Get up to Gryffindor Tower immediately and KEEP THE STUDENTS THERE!" McGonagall shouted as she started rushing away down the hall. She stopped herself suddenly and dashed back to whisper, "Quid Agis," to Charity.

"What?" Charity asked. She did indeed feel as if she'd been drugged; her head was thick and it had sounded to her as if McGonagall was speaking another language.

"Quid Agis," McGonagall repeated quickly, apparently struggling to keep her voice low. "It's the password to the tower at the painting of the – large boned woman in pink." As she said this, Charity noticed burn marks across McGonagall's face, but the elderly professor was already on the move before Charity could ask any questions. As McGonagall neared the end of the corridor, she quickly shouted to Charity, "And DON'T give out any details to the students - nothing has been confirmed!"

It would be no problem for Charity to keep the details to herself, because she didn't know any. She pulled on her robe and headed off to Gryffindor Tower. By divine guidance she navigated her way quickly, only once running past the tapestry hiding a vital staircase before quickly doubling back. After making her way up a narrow staircase and jumping a false step that she'd nearly forgotten about, she found herself standing in front of a portrait of a large woman wearing a poufy pink dress. The subject's eyes were nearly as poufy as her dress from crying, and they had a slightly terrified look about them.

"Quid agis," Charity said gently, hoping she'd remembered the password correctly.

The portrait swung open as the subject let out a loud sob and blew her nose into a corner of pink satin. Charity climbed into the round Gryffindor common room, still feeling groggy. As soon as she had the students as calm as she supposed was possible under the circumstances, she allowed herself to wonder - what exactly were the circumstances? More Gryffindors came pouring through the portrait hole as they were shooed in by the other professors. They came with much news. Unimaginable, unprecedented, unforgivable news. For the rest of their lives, the generation of students at Hogwarts that year would clearly remember exactly where they were the moment they heard that Albus Dumbledore was dead.

Charity was standing in the middle of the common room of Gryffindor tower, still in a dopey haze. The haze seemed to clear instantly when Seamus Finnegan came through the hole yelling, "They got Dumbledore. Threw him over the side of the tower!" Seamus had apparently been hiding at the end of the corridor, getting updates from Nearly Headless Nick. Students rushed to the window, but all they could see was darkness.

More students came with reports that the Order of the Phoenix was at Hogwarts doing battle with the Death Eaters. Snape, one of Dumbledore's most trusted advisors, was surely embroiled in the battle. Charity wanted to rush out into the castle, but needed to stay in her post. Seamus was furious when she wouldn't let him return to the hallway for updates. She held her ground firmly and explained that the best way to help the Order was to stay put. Three students did not return to the common room until very late – Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley. When they did return, they were able to relay the whole story. The whole wretched story.

The rumors that had been tossed about all night fell out as follows: Dumbledore was indeed dead; Death Eaters had invaded the castle; the Order of the Phoenix and several professors had been on hand doing battle with them; a particularly nasty Slytherin sixth year, Draco Malfoy, had been helping the Death Eaters all year long and was the one that had disarmed Dumbledore. The one that killed Dumbledore, however, the one that betrayed the man who had wholeheartedly trusted him when no one else would, was Severus Snape.


	16. Letter to the Editor

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Letter to the Editor

Charity had read about Zombies. Creatures that walk around stiffly, looking somewhat human but without feeling, numb. That's exactly how Charity felt in the days leading up to and including Dumbledore's funeral. The world around her was a haze, yet she continued to move along in it. Her parents had come to Hogwarts the night before the funeral, and they were something of a comfort, except that Charity could hardly bear the 'I told you so' look in her father's eye. Bless him for not saying it out loud. Of course he had been right about Snape. That much was clear. What he didn't need to know was how close his baby girl had gotten to the evil man the very night he'd done what he did.

She and her parents shuffled into their seats among the hundreds of other wizards and witches that came to pay their respects to the great Dumbledore on this gloriously beautiful day. Bright sunlight glinted off the lake, and its surface was rippled by the pleasantest of breezes. Legions of all manner of magical species turned out for the funeral - a mournful song in Mermish arose from the lake, and a herd of centaurs, hidden among the trees of the Forbidden Forest, fired off arrows in salute; it was a true show of Dumbledore's influence in the magical world.

For Charity, the most jarring moment of the funeral was when Hagrid appeared at the back of the aisle holding Dumbledore's body, which was wrapped in purple velvet. The headmaster looked so small in the prodigious man's arms, yet the pain that the lifeless body caused was enormous. Intense sorrow was carved so deeply into Hagrid's crumpled face that Charity had to look away before she felt too much. In the end, Dumbledore's body was sealed in a glorious white tomb that would remain by the edge of the lake.

Sorrow was not the only emotion that rippled through the crowd that day. There was also fear. Dumbledore was the only wizard that Voldemort was ever said to be afraid of. Now he was gone.

Although Charity's thoughts stayed with Dumbledore the entire day, she was also thinking of Snape. On the night he killed Dumbledore, she had thought that she'd finally broken through an impenetrable barrier with him, and she'd glimpsed a future of his walls coming down, one-by-one. She had told him - she had honestly believed - that he was a good man! Now the person she had thought Snape was was as dead to her as Dumbledore.

After the funeral, Charity returned to her parents' home for the summer. There would be no trips abroad this year. The current climate of evil in the wizarding world called for staying put and keeping a sharp eye out. Charity remained in her fog of sadness during her first few days back home. She spent much time alone in her second floor bedroom looking out at the ash and fruit trees that lined Highbury street.

Mrs. Burbage was an excellent housekeeper, so every rug was swept, every wooden surface of floor and furniture polished and gleaming. Charity would have been glad of some dust and cobwebs with which to join forces in her misery. She longed for a cold, dark day in one of her vacant towers. Her mind fluctuated between thoughts of dear, dear Dumbledore and that polar opposite, Snape. She had felt an undeniable connection to Snape, even while he was pushing her away. Why? For her part, she knew she had a perpetual soft spot for the underdog. It was perfectly natural for her to want to strengthen the heart of a man who had so obviously been wounded at some point in his life.

But what was his attraction to her? Did he sense something evil in her? Why had he come to her that night? Did he know what he was going to do? Did she somehow give him the strength to do it? Was there some horrible part of her lying dormant, waiting to be awoken?

Charity pushed these unwelcome thoughts from her mind by returning to Dumbledore. Dear, dear Dumbledore. She thought back to her interview with him and remembered how kind he was, how much he believed in her and her grand purpose. Her grand purpose…to defend Muggles…to bring a better understanding of Muggle culture to the wizarding world, so that one day they could live in unity. Yes, this was a worthwhile and good purpose! She became determined to focus her energies in this direction. And thus, the fog lifted.

Unfortunately, Charity's renewed sense of purpose resulted in much arguing with her parents. The atmosphere around them had turned distinctly anti-Muggle, and Charity's mother and father did not want their daughter returning to Hogwarts to teach a subject that would be most unwelcome.

"But, Mum, that's exactly why I should return," was what Charity found herself repeating over and over again. "It's wrong to think that Muggles are not just as human as we are, and I need to get this message across to the students. If I don't, then the Death Eaters will be free to send whatever message they want."

"Well, what have those Muggles ever done for you?"

"Mum!" Charity would shout. Such an outburst was usually followed by a sigh and another attempt to reason with her mother from a different angle. "Look, I'm not a spectacular witch…"

Pre-empting her mother's protest, Charity would add, "Mother I _know_ I'm not gifted magically, and I'm okay with that. What I'm saying is that my gift is understanding Muggles. Teaching the wizarding world about them and bringing closer relations between all humans is the one thing I can do for this world. Please don't try to stop me from trying to do the _one_ worthwhile thing that I am capable of."

Perceiving resignation in her mother's features, Charity would soften and try to comfort her with something like, "Come on, Mum, it's not like I'll be marching in the front lines."

"What?"

"Oh, Muggle military reference. What I mean is - think about where I'm going – Hogwarts. There won't be any place more protected than that, even with Dumbledore gone. And I'm just a stupid teacher; no one's going to care about me."

These repeated arguments seemed to pacify Mrs. Burbage until Mr. Burbage came home one day with the Daily Prophet. He set the newspaper on the table and said, "Interesting letter in the editorial section today."

Charity's head snapped up, and she saw that her father was looking directly at her. He wore the same expression he'd worn when Charity was a little girl and he'd discovered that she'd built a small wooden amusement park behind the shed in their garden to attract more garden gnomes. He'd been impressed with her spirit but dismayed at the terrible mess she'd made.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Burbage had snatched up the paper and read the letter aloud:

Dear Editor,

I am very disappointed by the distinctly anti-Muggle stance this newspaper seems to be portraying of late. To suggest that non-Magical people are somehow beneath Magical people is entirely unfounded. We are all human after all – different, yes, but _EQUAL_.

Try as many have to keep our two worlds distinct and separate, Muggles and Wizards are constantly and inevitably drawn together. I cannot pretend to ignore the horrendous treatment of Witches and Wizards by Muggles during the Witch Burnings of the Fourteenth Century (although really, what harm did it do?) but I do believe that with the right approach, Witches, Wizards, and Muggles can live in harmony, side-by-side. Not only do I think it's possible, I wholeheartedly believe it is _DESIREABLE_.

I know the wizarding minority, which promotes the preservation of Pure-Blood lines, would have the world believe that mixing Muggle blood with Magical will lead to the watering down and weakening of Magical abilities; however, I propose that the EXACT OPPOSITE is true!

You don't need to look so very far back in history to understand my point. Look at the offspring of Lily Evans, a Muggle-born, and James Potter for example – this child single-handedly brought down the most evil force ever known to mankind as a baby and has gone on to elude the dark one on at least two occasions since. No diluted Magical ability there.

Hushed rumors have been circulating for years that You-Know-Who himself has Muggle blood in him. He is evil, to be sure, but his Magical powers are great – I don't think anyone in this world would describe his abilities as "watered-down."

The debates will continue, and rightly so. I only ask that this paper give voice to those of us who look forward to a world where Muggle and Wizard will work together as equals for a world that is better than any we can now imagine.

Sincerely,

Professor Bnickel

"The Bnickel was a clever stroke, don't you think?" Charity tried to say lightly.

"Oh, Charity! How could you do this? How could you make yourself such a target?" exclaimed Mrs. Burbage in panic.

"Smartly written kitten," said Mr. Burbage diplomatically, "but I do wish you would have left out that bit about You-Know-Who." He looked distraught, and he was not a man Charity had ever known to become falsely alarmed. His voice became quieter and his tone deadly serious when he continued. "You were very young when You-Know-Who was at the height of his power. You don't remember what it was like. Your mum and I kept a lot from you. You didn't really know the terror and dread that we were all living under. And the current situation isn't any better. I guess it's time your mum and I stopped hiding things from you."

"Well, yeah!" said Charity. "I am not a little girl this time."

Mr. Burbage glanced over toward Mrs. Burbage, whose eyes were now downcast. He told Charity, "The publishing industry is under heavy pressure to print only Death Eater friendly news. I'm shocked that your letter even made it into the paper to be honest with you. Someone at the paper's going to pay, if they haven't already."

A horrible guilt clutched at Charity. She hadn't fully thought through the consequences of publishing her letter. "Oh," was the only response she could muster at that moment.

Her father continued, "There's talk at _Magical Minds Weekly_ and several of the other magazines about going on hiatus until all this blows over."

"Dad, what will you do?" Charity asked, completely shocked to hear that her father's business was being affected.

"Oh now, don't you worry about that," he answered, forcing a smile onto his face. "What've I always told you about saving for a rainy day? That's why we don't live in the biggest house on the block, right?"

"Sure, but now there's even more reason for me to go back to Hogwarts – someone in this house had to be bringing in a paycheck," Charity said. Mr. Burbage did not look pleased at the trap he'd just set for himself.

Mr. Burbage's eyes darted about in thought, and he was silent for a few moments. Charity could see that he was still agitated about something. Finally, he said, "That was a clever bit with the bunny name on the letter kitten, clever, but how many of your colleagues at Hogwarts know the name?"

"I suppose…" She wondered why this would be important and then gasped – Snape!

"I'm not afraid of Severus Snape," she said bravely and truthfully.

"Neither was Dumbledore," was her father's crushing response. "Look, honey," he added, "You've said your bit loud and clear. Now maybe it's time for you to lay low for a while. Take a year off teaching and work on your Muggle studies in some, er, quieter part of the world."

Charity considered sending her family's owl, Frederic, with a note to McGonagall to get a pulse on the situation at Hogwarts. To her parents, she said, "Look, the other teachers at Hogwarts are just as anti-Death Eater as I am. If they decide that Hogwarts is the place for them, then it's the place for me too."

"But sweetheart…" her mother started in her panicky voice, but Charity cut her off. She had no more patience for her mother's worries, especially now that they seemed so well founded.

"I'm not going to lose to Snape!" Charity shouted, then quickly added, "Or to that what's-his-face either." She promptly turned and left the room.

Charity stopped abruptly after the door swung shut behind her. She wondered if she had convinced her parents, because she wasn't entirely sure she had convinced herself. She heard her father say, "I think we have to let her do this punkin." His statement was followed by a large sob from her mother. "We should be very proud to have raised a fighter like our little Charity," Mr. Burbage continued. His voice had become thick, and he didn't say anything else.


	17. Lord Voldemort

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Lord Voldemort

In the end, Charity's parents got their wish – she never did make it to Hogwarts to teach Muggle Studies that year. The decision came down on a day that Charity had felt upbeat for the first time since before Dumbledore's funeral. It had been a week since her letter was published, and by now it was nothing more that lining for her bunny's cage. Even her parents seemed more relaxed. Still, she did promise them to stay either at home or in well-lit public places for the remainder of the summer. Today she was going shopping in Diagon Alley in London and meeting some of her girlfriends from Preppy for lunch. She kissed her parents and stepped into the fireplace.

She arrived in the Leaky Cauldron, a London pub that was the gateway between the Muggle world and the purely magical Diagon Alley. After a friendly hello to Tom, the barman, Charity quickly made her way out back, wrinkling her nose at the rank aromas that blended to create a smell that put one in mind of, well, a leaky cauldron. Her way out was not impeded by the throngs of witches and wizards that had typically crowded the place before Voldemort's return. Once in the back courtyard, she simply tapped a certain brick in the wall, and Diagon Alley suddenly stood before her.

The shop-lined street was not exactly bustling; more than a few shops had gone out of business and been boarded up. Nevertheless, the all-important summer issue of _Witure _with the latest look in robes (_blue is the new black!_), boots (_you can never be too pointy_), and other witchwear brought out a respectably-sized crowd for fashion season. Charity was going into this fashion season with a heavier heart than she had ever known, but her spirits were buoyed by the chance to get out and think about something light and unimportant for a change.

After stopping by Gringotts to withdraw a few knuts and sickles, she stopped at the candy cart to pick up some popping pecans for her mother. Then it was off to her favorite dress shop, Crystal's Ball, to meet her friends. She stepped into the familiar glittering lights that bounced around among the dresses, jackets, skirts and tops. Periodically, one of the glittering lights would rest on a particular dress or outfit and enlarge to spotlight it. The owner said that there was one unique light for each of his customers and that the custom lights would select outfits specifically suited to that customer. Charity was skeptical about the truthfulness of this claim, but she did always like what the little lights picked out for her.

She looked around for her girlfriends, but they hadn't yet arrived. She then looked for the shop owner - a round, little wizard named Vincenzo with a happy face that was always ready to please. Instead she spotted a thin salesgirl with heavily applied eye make-up that she didn't recognize. The salesgirl made her way past two other customers and with a wide smile told Charity to let her know when she was ready to try something on.

"Certainly," Charity smiled back. "I'm here on my annual dress-buying binge. I don't think we've met."

"Oh, probably not. I just started last month. I'm Annie," the salesgirl said with another smile that didn't strike Charity as all that sincere.

"Hi, Annie. Nice to meet you. Is Vincenzo in today? I'd love to say hello to him."

"He's a little tied up right now, and I don't think he'll be able to break away before you leave," the girl answered. This time her big smile seemed a bit more genuine.

Charity's friends still hadn't arrived, so she decided to make good use of her time and get shopping. Crystal's Ball, along with most of the other dress shops, carried color changing gowns. These gowns would immediately change colors when they sensed too much of the same hue in a room. The color-changers came in equally handy when the wearer was caught by surprise at a black and white ball; in that case all color would discreetly drain from the gown.

What set Vincenzo's shop apart from the others was his Morph-Wear. Vincenzo took fashions from top designers and wove threads of charmed materials into them. These charmed materials would automatically adjust the outfit to the specific body type of the wearer. For example, a skirt might lengthen a bit for a witch with knobbley knees. For a long-legged Veela, the same skirt would become considerably shorter. This process was by no means as simple as it sounds, and asking too much of any Morph-Wear could result in nothing but a pile of shredded fabric. Charity noticed a rather rotund customer heading back to the dressing room with a Morph-Gown that was positively trembling on its hanger.

After approving several of the selections made by her spotlight, Charity headed toward the dressing rooms herself. The salesgirl from earlier met her halfway there and directed her to a room at the far end. "This one is roomier than the others," she said. "I've been saving it for you."

"Thank you," said Charity as she shut the door behind her. "Oh, I am supposed to meet some friends any minute," she called through the dressing room door. "If they come in, please tell them where I am."

"Sure will," the sales girl called back cheerfully.

Charity began as she usually did with a phoofy, glittery, pink number that she would never actually wear in public, but was still fun to try on. This always seemed to help make her other choices of wardrobe seem more practical. As she was admiring the puffy vision of herself in the mirror, she wondered if in twenty years she'd be staring back at a likeness of the woman in the Gryffindor portrait. Hmm, best to push thoughts of Gryffindor Tower from her mind.

As Charity reached back to unzip, she noticed a clear, shimmery, glass-like substance rising up along the insides of the dressing room walls. Was this some new gimmick of Vincenzo's? The glass reached the top of the walls, and by the time Charity thought to ask the over-attentive salesgirl for some explanation, the substance had formed a kind of ceiling above her.

Then something even stranger happened. The substance, which had now formed a giant bubble, started to ascend, lifting Charity with it! She shouted out for an explanation but received no response. She could see the people in the shop as the bubble lifted her above the dressing room walls, but they didn't seem to see or hear her. Just before the bubble started pushing through the shop ceiling, she saw her salesgirl quickly departing the store. Odd.

Charity's full attention was drawn to the ceiling, which she was rapidly approaching. Was the bubble going to crush her against it? She reached for her wand but remembered that the salesgirl had offered to hold on to it right before she'd entered the dressing room. Charity prepared to push against the ceiling in resistance, but her hands went through it, and somehow she was able to transcend through the ceiling along with the bubble. She continued her ascension through the store's attic and then out through the roof.

When she found herself floating over the pedestrians on Diagon Alley, she tried yelling and waving for some assistance. She hesitated to pound or tap on the bubble itself, afraid it might pop and send her careening to the pavement. Realizing that her enclosure was obviously keeping her invisible to the outside world, she eventually collapsed, exhausted, onto the soft but impenetrable floor of the bubble. Far below her, Diagon Alley was shifting away as she had stopped rising and began moving sideways.

What exactly was happening? As she contemplated her situation, she gazed down through the transparent floor at the sight below. London was now passing slowly by, and she could see the Thames winding its way past Parliament to Tower Bridge. It was really quite lovely. Was this some sort of a surprise from her father? He knew she was never adept at flying; he also knew how fond she was of aerial pictorials such as the one Oliver Wood had given her at her last birthday.

How like her father to surprise her, especially in a way that would keep her transparent to the outside world - something he was keen on lately. He probably thought this was a safer way to transport her home. She did wish he would have checked with her, though, because now she was going to miss lunch with her girlfriends. Unless her girlfriends were now also floating in bubbles and her father had arranged a special luncheon for them all in a surprise location! "_Oh, daddy_!" she thought happily.

Her happiness faded as she continued her slow pace through London, and the countryside took over. She was growing weary and hungry and grumpy. A witch in a pink, glittering dress floating over the countryside in a bubble – had there ever been anything so ridiculous? "Really, Daddy!" she muttered aloud in agitation, feeling a bit like her mother.

Much time passed, and the sun began to set. Eventually Charity's glass enclosure slowed considerably, and a large estate came into view in the darkening countryside. Charity's bubble passed over a high curving hedge and a large wrought iron gate. She could make out some kind of large white birds strutting among the shrubs. Light was shining out from diamond-paned glass in the lower level of the manor home that she was approaching. The bubble moved to the center of the building's roof and began to descend through each floor of the grand mansion. She did not see any sign of her girlfriends as she moved downward.

The bubble finally came to a landing on an uneven surface. She found herself in a dark, dank room. The ceiling was low and the floor was dirt. It was her first clue that the bubble may be something more sinister than a surprise from her father. Just then the bubble popped. She heard only a faint dripping and her own slow breathing, and she wondered what was going to happen next. The air coming slowly into and out of her mouth was cool and damp. She stood very still. Only her eyes moved in an attempt to survey her new surroundings as they adjusted to the darkness.

Suddenly she was face-to-face with an unnaturally white creature that seemed to be caught mid-transition from man into some kind of horrible reptile. Any ounce of courage that Charity clung to evaporated the second she laid eyes on Voldemort. Two Death Eaters had approached her from either side and gripped her arms tightly in case she attempted to flee. Feeling her weakness, they released her and she fell immediately to her knees and dropped her head down to the ground, so she would no longer have to look at this vile creature in front of her. Even so, Charity's mind remained filled with its image. She was only vaguely aware that she was kneeling on damp earth and of the faint dripping sound in the distance.

Then the creature spoke. "Are you bowing to the Dark Lord?" he hissed. "It's a little late for that."

Charity's head was jerked up by a force outside of herself, and she could not tear her eyes from that face. She trembled uncontrollably.

"Yesss, you should be very frightened, my dear," the strangely high-pitched voice said. As the wicked voice continued, it grew louder with every syllable. "I could have overlooked your article defending Muggles, your loveliness. Written it off as the harmless musings of an overprIVELEDGED PRINCESS!" He was practically shrieking now.

If Charity had been capable of feeling anything but fear at that moment, she would have really, really, really wished that she was wearing anything but that pink, poufy dress right then. As it was, she barely even noticed that as he spoke, she was lifted into the air and began to slowly turn upside down. "BUT YOU DARE TO SUGGEST THAT VOLDEMORT, THE MOST POWERFUL WIZARD THAT EVER LIVED WAS PART MUGGLE!"

Charity was now completely upside down with blood rushing to her head. "WHO TOLD YOU THESE LIES?" he screeched. He stood with his eye slits barely an inch away from hers. Charity stared with terror into the chilling hatred that consumed him. She was half paralyzed but knew she had to answer.

She croaked, "I...I…don't know…it was just gossip…I'm sure no one believes it."

Voldemort seemed to accept her answer as he stepped away. Charity began to pray for this nightmare to end. Then the creature turned, pointed his wand at her, and hissed "Crucio!"

Charity writhed as every inch of her body was wrenched with extreme, burning pain. She found herself wishing to explode just to end it all. Then everything went blissfully black. When she regained consciousness, she was still suspended upside down in mid-air, but was now hovering over a large table surrounded by people. Her immediate instinct was to try to break free, make a run for it, but she was being held tight by invisible bonds.

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus."1 she heard the awful voice say.

Severus? Charity's eyes darted around the table where she saw several Death Eaters, most of whom were gazing up at her. She was slowly rotating, and as she came to face the firelight, she saw him and said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!"2 It was proof of how desperate she'd become. How could she think Snape would help her when he was most likely the very one who'd handed her over to Voldemort?

"Ah, yes,"3 said Snape to Voldemort as she turned slowly away.

"And you, Draco?"4 said the lizard casually.

Charity's eyes flicked to the small figure which must have been Draco. She vaguely recognized him from around Hogwarts. He was shaking his head jerkily and didn't seem to be able to look directly at her.

"But you would not have taken her classes,"5 the lizard continued. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yes…Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles…how they are not so different from us…"6

'_How you are descended from one_!' Charity wanted to shout, but it was simply beyond her capabilities at the moment. She revolved to face Snape again.

"Severus…please…please…"7 was all she could muster.

"Silence," said Voldemort, and Charity felt as if someone had suddenly jammed a large cork down her throat. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance…She would have us all mate with Muggles…or, no doubt, werewolves…"8 Werewolves? She'd never said anything about werewolves.

The room became deathly quiet as Voldemort's hate-filled voice inspired a muted awe, even among Death Eaters. Charity came in view of Snape again. Her final appeal was made in silence, looking straight into his eyes through her thick tears. Snape looked back with an unreadable expression while she turned slowly away, her last chance gone.

"Avada Kedavra," were the last words she heard before amazing flashes of green shot around the room and her world went dark.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is _not_ the final chapter (i.e. I am not pulling a Sopranos on you.) There is more of the story to tell. If you have any theories on what might happen in the next chapter, I'd love to hear them!

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

1 Exact Quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J.K. Rowling p. 11

2 Ibid

3 Ibid

4 Ibid

5 Ibid

6 Ibid, p. 11,12

7 Ibid, p. 12

8 Ibid


	18. Doughty Street

Chapter 18

Doughty Street

Charity's iron eyelids fell open ever so slightly. Her limbs felt as if full of sand, her body drained of all energy. A large, dark blur stood in front of her amidst a dull grey background. She lay still and silent while she waited for her vision to clear. As the indistinct fuzz around her sharpened to general shapes, she saw that the blur was a person. That person seemed to notice that she'd become somewhat conscious and knelt down, whispering, "Drink this." It was a man's voice.

The man turned her face and supported her neck and head while he poured a liquid down her throat. It was warm and thick and it clung to the sides of her throat as it made its way down. She closed her eyes, and much time must have passed before she opened them again, because bright sunlight was now fighting its way through a crack between dark panels of curtain that hung at a nearby window. Charity felt more lucid this time and was sure she'd be able to move again when she needed to, but not yet. She didn't know where she was, or why, and wanted to get a better handle on her situation before calling attention to herself.

Someone was a across the small room and appeared to be cutting or crushing something at a table. It must be the man who'd given her the drink. He turned and looked at Charity. She clamped her eyelids shut, but it was too late; he'd seen her. He came over, knelt down next to her, and said, "Good, you're awake. It's almost time for your next dose." Charity knew this voice very well.

"Severus!" she gasped and sat straight up. Her first instinct was to clutch him tightly with her arms wrapped around his neck. She was still terrorized by her latest experience and needed this human contact. As she held on, she replayed in her mind the scene that had led up to this moment. She loosened her grip around Snape's neck and looked quickly around. She had no idea where they were, but they were alone.

"Are you dead too? Did you try to save me and he killed you too?" she asked urgently.

"I _did_ save you," answered Snape. He'd gently pulled her arms from him and was now standing, looking down at her. His tone carried no warmth. He was merely stating facts. "We're both alive."

Charity took a brief moment to take this in and then asked, "But how? I saw the green light…Avadra Kadavre…?"

"With defenseless prey, the Dark Lord used the situation to once again demonstrate the enormity of his great power. Against my better judgment, I directed a banishing charm at you while everyone else was distracted by his moment of hubris." Snape must have noted the confused look on Charity's face and continued his mono-toned explanation, "The charm hit you, causing you to fall to the table split seconds before his curse ricocheted off the walls and reached you." Charity remained silent as she absorbed this shocking new information.

Snape continued, "I also managed to convince the Dark Lord that, unworthy though your subject was, you were a professor at the honorable school of Hogwarts and deserved a better burial than to decompose in the acid stomach of his dear pet, Nagini. I've been allowed to take your body for burial."

Fear flickered back into Charity's eyes. Was Snape now going to finish what Voldemort began? She looked into his face and saw resolve and perhaps a trace of sadness but not murder. Emboldened by this reassurance, she asked, "Why? Why would you take that risk?"

"I don't know," answered Snape. He returned to his work at the table and continued with his back to Charity. When he spoke again, it was almost as if he was explaining more to himself than to her. "I lost someone I cared about once to my Dark Master, and I suppose in those few seconds of impulsive action, the weaker side of me knew that I couldn't bear for it to happen again."

In the same breath that Snape told Charity that he cared about her, he stung her by seeming to think that saving her was a mistake. Charity now fully recollected her latest feelings towards Snape and replied with words sharp as knives. "Pity for Dumbledore that you didn't care so much for him," she said evenly. Snape turned towards her with an angry jerk. "What?" she challenged him, "_he_ never gave you a good enough snogging?"

Snape's mouth opened as if to offer a thousand explanations at once. Instead his mouth closed, and his face set once again in stone. Seeing that she would not get a satisfactory reaction from him, Charity concluded coolly, "Thank you, Severus, for saving my life, but I don't know how worthwhile this life is going to be with the Death Eaters and…and…" She couldn't bring herself to speak of Voldemort, not yet.

No matter, because Snape broke in to warn her, "You must not say his name from here forward. You would be putting yourself right back into his hands."

"You mean what's-his-face?" she asked, and Snape nodded affirmatively. With that small act of saying what was as close as she'd ever come to his name, she could feel her courage seeping back in. "By the way - what _is_ his face?" she asked.

Snape ignored her question and told her gravely, "It is for my benefit at least as much as yours that the Dark Lord does not find out that you are still alive. If he found out that I betrayed him, even in such a small way, the vengeance he would seek on me would be ten times worse than what he'd do to you." Then in barely audible tones, he added, "I can hide you Charity, but before I do so I must ask you to make an Unbreakable Vow. In that vow you must promise that you will not, while you are in hiding, reveal to _anyone_ your true identity or tell _anyone_ that I saved you."

After a pause, while Charity tried to figure out how to save face as well as her life, she answered, "In your moment of _weakness_ you spared me what's-his-face's wrath. I suppose I owe you the same. Yes, I'll take your vow."

"Are you sure you completely understand how an Unbreakable Vow works? You must be very careful. You must think about everything you're about to do or say. The vow won't care how many, er, Muggle potions you've consumed. It only knows that when it's broken, you're dead."

"I said, '_I'll take your vow!_'" Charity answered sharply. Soon after, Snape held Charity's small hand clasped in his long, pale fingers as tongues of flame from his wand entwined them in light.

*****

The vow turned out to be a bit more complex than first described. In addition to keeping her identity secret, Charity was to do absolutely no magic -- she was to live entirely as a Muggle! Certainly there were very few witches better prepared to undertake such a task. She had a greater knowledge and much greater appreciation for Muggles than did the average witch or and wizard. After graduating from Preppy, she'd even participated in a magical-exchange program whereby she'd taken up residence with an open-minded Muggle family for several weeks. Even so, the prospect of refraining entirely from magic was daunting.

It was true that when she'd been a student she was not allowed to do magic during her breaks from school, however, she had still been surrounded by it. Her mother had been free to magically whip up a spot of tea whenever she felt like it, and although Charity wasn't licensed to Apparate or Disapparate (an advanced form of magical transportation whereby wizards and witches seem to appear out of and disappear into thin air), she often did side-by-sides by clinging onto her father's hand while he performed the necessary magic. Furthermore, the Muggles she'd lived with had always understood her to be a witch and were very eager to explain their Muggle ways whenever Charity became confused. And they never complained when she'd ease their way out of a sticky wicket by performing a little magic on the sly.

Snape had decided on London as Charity's hideout location. As he'd explained it, "It will be difficult enough for you to adjust to life as a Muggle without you having to learn an entirely new culture and language. London is a very big city and has its fair share of Muggle misfits, so you should blend in nicely. Also, it's close enough so that…sometimes…if…well, it may prove convenient."

He'd set her up in a second floor studio flat on Doughty Street in the Camden borough of London. He explained that he was shielding it with certain charms that would provide additional protection. He'd also taken care of details such as setting up a bank account with Muggle money and had somehow obtained Muggle identification. Right before he left her, he'd thrust a small bottle containing two small stones into her hand.

"Bezoar," he'd said darkly. "Keep them with you. If you ever drink or eat anything that you expect may have been poisoned, take one immediately." It was just like Snape to leave her with such comforting words.

Charity's new flat was small but fully furnished and comfortable. She'd collapsed onto her bare mattress upon first arriving, still drained from everything that had happened, and slept for nearly twelve hours. When she finally woke up the next morning, she sat alone in the stark, quiet apartment feeling very lonely. And scared. She'd never realized until just then of how much she'd always been watched over. She'd lived with her doting parents until she went off to Hogwarts, and once at the castle, she'd been under the watchful and protective presence of Dumbledore and McGonagall. Now it was just Charity and London.

Not being one to dwell on unpleasant thoughts for very long, Charity forced herself up off the bed and began pacing. "So I'm essentially a Muggle now – total immersion," she said aloud to herself (this was something that would become a habit now that she was to spend so much time alone.) She'd be able to do her research from the inside now. Why, for someone of her interests, this was actually a golden opportunity wasn't it? She confidently believed that, in the end, the wizarding world would triumph over Voldemort, and she'd be able to return to her old life; therefore, she was able to look at her current situation as merely a temporary one. One that she should take full advantage of.

Charity walked over to her tiny closet and looked at the Muggle clothes Snape had procured for her – a bright orange-flowered housecoat, a men's suit jacket, several pairs of tartan golf knickers, a small green vest with some kind of patches sewn all over it, a West Ham football t-shirt, rubber garden clogs, and an overstuffed parka.

"Terrific," she muttered. Looked like she'd be braving the Muggle clothing stores first. Her stomach grumbled. "And the grocery market," she added aloud.

Charity fashioned herself an ugly but passable outfit from the knickers and the tight West Ham t-shirt. The prior tenant had hung a full length mirror on the inside of the closet door, so she was able to see how she'd done. Her reflection was so strange to her, not because of the outfit, but because of how different she looked in her new hairstyle. Looking different was a good thing for Charity, because London was frequented by many Death Eaters. Snape had more than hinted that the Ministry of Magic, located in the heart of London, was littered with them, so something had to be done to disguise her.

Snape had gone through the options out loud, "Polyjuice is only temporary and will be too much trouble to maintain…we don't want to risk permanently changing any of your features…no, we'll have to keep it to your hair."

Wandless, Charity had to rely on Snape to transform her. It had been an odd sensation to put herself into the hands of a man she could no longer trust. She sat very still while he examined her intently, slowly circling and waving his wand. Her scalp tingled and she didn't move a muscle, afraid of growing hair where she didn't want it. When he finally finished, he stood directly in front of her and cupped her chin in his wand-free hand, tilting her face up toward his to examine his work. Charity closely watched Snape's expert eyes, which never once made contact with hers. As they stood silently in such a seemingly intimate pose, Charity wished she could go back to that night with Snape in her Hogwarts apartment and erase everything that had happened since.

Snape had changed Charity's long wavy golden curls into a coal black, blunt cut that came to her chin. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she could already see her natural curls beginning to rebel against the severely straight style.

Charity ventured out of the safe nest of her flat and caught the Russell Square Tube to the Knightsbridge station and arrived in a part of London she had often visited with her mother. Charity viewed public transportation as one of the truly great Muggle accomplishments and tried to use it whenever possible, even before living as a Muggle. Her first stop was to a large department store, where she was wary of the dressing rooms and elected to save the trying on for the safety of her own flat.

Passing a souvenir cart on her way back to the tube, she spotted a figurine of a bunny wearing a British Bobbie's hat. Her heart leapt for Bnickel, and she asked the cart attendant how much.

"Five quid," he answered.

Charity looked at the wad of bills and coins in her hand and couldn't recall any that were called a quid. "I'm afraid I don't have any quid," she told the man. He looked over her money and pulled out five one pound coins, shaking his head. "Thank you!" she smiled exuberantly at the man, thoroughly delighted to have already learned something new about Muggles – quid was apparently slang for pound.

The grocery market was going to be more difficult. Someone else, either her mother or house elves, had always taken care of that detail for her. She found a small market close to her flat and approached the crowded grocery shelves with trepidation. The cans and jars and boxes may as well have been the same array of mysterious items that lined the shelves in Snape's office for all that she knew what to do with them. She remembered the ingredients she'd had delivered to Hogwarts for the triple layer chocolate cake and began filling her cart. All in all, she felt it was a successful trip; the check-out girl didn't start looking at her curiously until after ringing up the sixth dozen of eggs.

During the next few days, Charity also bought herself a Television set, a computer, and several cookbooks, so she could research Muggles in the privacy of her own flat. When she proudly surveyed her purchases and added up what she'd spent, she realized that she needed to get a job. Snape had secured enough money for her to survive on, but he was clearly used to subsisting on a lot less than was Charity. She was going to have to earn some extra income, particularly considering she had no idea how long she was to be living the Muggle life.

Charity looked through the Help Wanted adds in the Muggle newspaper. It was much more difficult hunting down a job this way compared to via the Daily Prophet. With the Muggle paper, Charity had to actually read through each column of advertisements, circling those that appealed to her, and then telephone each place of business herself. When searching for a job in the Prophet, one only needed to open up to the job postings section where a nasally-voiced witch with black-rimmed reading spectacles resting on her pointed nose would appear and ask a series of questions. The witch would record your answers onto her notepad and then disappear back into the page. After a few minutes of listening to what sounded like the shuffling of a tremendous amount of paper, the witch would reappear with a list of job postings for which you were qualified and a schedule of appointments.

After hours and hours of reading and circling, Charity found a job that sounded perfect for her - Gallery Assistant in the Departments of Greece and Rome at the British Museum. The museum itself was within walking distance of her flat, and Charity felt qualified for the job since she'd taught units on both Greece and Rome in her Muggle Studies course. She wrote up a resume, referring to Muggle Studies simply as Human Studies, and walked it into the Museum the next day.

She was led immediately into the office of a short, pepper-haired man called Mr. Duster. The two of them had a delightful conversation about the continual relevance of ancient Greece and the importance of passing the lessons learned from Rome on to the next generation. They had a particularly interesting discussion of the history of the Olympic Games. Charity wanted so much to tell Mr. Duster about the exciting history of the Triwizard tournament but restrained herself. She received a phone call the very next day telling her that she was hired. Charity sat back with a nearly perfect cup of tea that she'd prepared herself and congratulated herself on the success of her first few weeks as a Muggle.


	19. The Delivery

Chapter 19

The Delivery

A persistent dread infected everything that Charity did during her first weeks in London. She was worried about her parents - not because she thought they were in danger; she didn't expect they'd be on Voldemort's radar now that he thought he'd done away with Charity. She was worried because surely they must be concerned for their only daughter's safety after she hadn't returned from that shopping trip. Mr. and Mrs. Burbage had spent the first weeks of summer warning Charity about the danger she was putting herself into, and now their worst fear had come true.

Before she'd taken the Unbreakable Vow, Charity had expressed this concern to Snape. He'd only appeared irritated and seemed to think it was a trifling matter. Couldn't he understand a parent's anguish? Now that Charity thought of it, did Snape even have parents? She couldn't think of a time when he'd mentioned them. So maybe that was it; he actually couldn't understand. Either that or he had so little heart left that he simply didn't care. Regardless, Snape hadn't offered any comfort on the matter, so Charity walked around with the guilt of knowing she was causing her parents so much pain.

Charity was in a particularly melancholy mood when she returned to her tiny flat one day to find two unfamiliar boxes sitting on her bed. She was startled and approached cautiously. Out of habit, she lifted a wooden spoon from the kitchen counter - made easier by the fact that it was but a meter from her front door - and trained the handle end on the larger of the two boxes. Slowly, she approached her bed. Keeping the common, household utensil pointed at the big box, she lifted a flap on the smaller one with her free hand, shrieked out of pure nerves, and jumped back.

Not daring to step closer, she stretched on her tip-toes and craned to get a peek inside the box. Nothing popped out at her or exploded; that was good. She just now noticed a distinct odor coming from one of the boxes. It was horrid, yet pleasantly familiar. Odd. Still, what was in the open box? She dared a step closer and then noticed movement inside. With a snap of her wrist, the spoon handle switched to the smaller box. As Charity was about to yell, _'Mortis Locomotor!'_ she remembered the vow and then realized that the utensil in her hand wasn't going to do anything but give the intruder a good stirring.

"Oh, hang it," she muttered and stepped over to the box and pulled it all the way open. She looked down and found herself staring into her parents' faces! Her dad was smiling away while her mother had her hands held up to her face with a worried expression as she watched waves lapping on the shore towards little Charity - it was the photo from their family vacation to Majorca that Charity had kept in her room at Hogwarts.

The photo was accompanied by a few books and knick-knacks from Charity's Hogwarts office. She smiled happily at her belongings and immediately started setting them around her room. She realized she'd have to hide most of these items if ever she invited any Muggles over, but it was so good to have a taste of her old life, her real life. She set the books on a shelf next to the Bobbie bunny figurine that reminded her of … that smell! She ran to the big box and flung it open – there, lying fast asleep, was Bnickel.

"Oh, beautiful Bnickel!" she said as she lifted him out of the box and opened his cage. By now he had woken up and squirmed a bit. He settled down as soon as she was holding him snugly against her chest. Here was something warm and soft and alive that could give her love. Even more importantly, something she could give love to. As she felt his little heart beat against hers, she knew that this little bunny had just saved her life. With him to pop up every time she walked through the door, standing on his two feet, stretching his little nose up to greet her at the top of his hutch, she was going to make it through this.

Settled in with her things, Charity finally began to wonder how it all got there. Snape was the only one who knew where she was. It was unthinkable that a man as cold as him could make such a kind gesture. And how could he have shown his face back at Hogwarts to collect her things? Still, what were the alternatives? Snape could not have dared tell anyone else that she was alive without risking a torturous death for himself. It had to have been him. Charity smiled at this thought as she rubbed noses with her bunny.

What was it he had said to her - "_It is for my benefit at least as much as yours that the Dark Lord does not find out that you are still alive_."

"That's it," she told Bnickel with a sinking feeling of disappointment. Snape needed her to stay hidden; therefore, he needed her to stay semi-sane and that was the only reason he went through the trouble of sending her things.

It was nearly a full week before Charity noticed the note that was jammed in the corner of Bnickel's cage. The rabbit had already chewed a hole clean through, and when she opened the letter, there was a large, ragged chunk missing. The letter was from her mum and dad! She could hardly calm herself enough to focus on the words, but she eventually forced herself to do so.

Dearest Charity,.

Well, it appears your rabbit does have magical powers after all. Or has at least been

taking lessons from Frederic. You cannot imagine our relief when we read your letter.

I regret to tell you that I was unable to save even a scrap of it when it burst into flames

and disintegrated just as I was reading your lovely signature. Gave me quite a start.

Your father wants me to tell you that it was a very clever trick. Of course, HE'S not

the one who nearly had his eyebrows singed.

We are greatly relieved to learn that you have taken our advice and gone off to some

far continent. I don't see why you couldn't have given a proper good-bye, but I suppose

you have your reasons. Nevertheless, you should know that our grief was great when

we feared that the worst had happened. Mysterious disap......rances have become quite

commonplace these days and I'm afraid to say not all ................ have had the same

happy results as yours. Our friends and neighbors ........................ tremely gracious and

understanding in our anxious state. Why, some .............................. to magic us dinner

every night since you first disappeared. Come to ............................... has meals

scheduled every other night throughout the ......................................... did say you

wished to keep your current circumstances as ................................ gh desiring to

let the neighbors think that you are dead seems ...................... pect your wishes

and continue accepting these meals. Yes, your fath ............... ep up this semi-

mourning charade until you are out of danger.

Your father wants me to tell you not return the bunny to us. We don't want you to

compromise your safety, dear. Also, you should probably change its bedding straight

away.

Sincerely,

Mum & Dad

Snape must have attached a note from Charity to her parents on the bunny cage. He knew that Charity was worried about her parents' reaction to her disappearance; he was probably concerned that Charity might reveal herself to them and potentially others in the process. Snape was just covering his own rear again.

All the same, wasn't he taking a huge risk by letting even her parents know that Charity was still alive? After all, her mother was the emotional type and it wasn't in her nature to keep a secret. Then again, her parents still didn't have any idea where Charity was, and the letter she had supposedly sent them had been destroyed, so there was no hard evidence, just her parents' word - her parents' grieving, emotionally-strained word. If they did slip (which was really very unlikely the more Charity thought about it, since they believed their daughter's very life depended on their discretion,) chances were that nobody would believe them; it would simply be written off as some sort of post-traumatic stress. Despite herself, Charity was impressed by Snape's cleverness.

*****

With her mind at ease about her parents, Charity tried to make the best of her secluded Muggle life. Over the summer Charity had become quite fond of the paunchy museum security guard, Bernie, and his tall, skinny girlfriend Marta, who worked at the museum's information desk. Bernie and Marta were both just a few years older than Charity and had been dating for some time. Bernie was a jolly fellow with a very dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Marta was mostly just dry, but she came with the Bernie package, so Charity thought it worthwhile to look past her stony veneer.

One September day, when Charity was at Marta's information booth dropping off some new flyers about an upcoming exhibit on Vatican artifacts, a large tour group entered through the front doors of the museum. They looked to be an elderly American group with several walkers and hearing aids among them. The group was led by a stressed looking, middle-aged woman holding a fistful of museum tickets.

"Ah yes," said Bernie to the woman, "I see our live exhibit of the original British Colonists has arrived. Straight through the court then and to your right."

The harried woman clutched her tickets, nodded confusedly at Bernie, and headed off through the court and out of their sight.

"That was so funny," Marta said in her monotone voice, although no actual laugh was forthcoming. Charity laughed but debated internally whether or not to catch up with the woman and set her straight.

Bernie interrupted her thoughts when he said, "Oi, there Candy (her Muggle name) a group of us are takin' a trip to the zoo this Saturday. Care to join us?" Charity was thrilled at the invitation and accepted at once. She'd never been to a real zoo before.

The 'group' turned out to be Charity, Bernie, Marta, and Marta's twelve year old niece, Leanne. Sitting in the backseat of Bernie's little car next to Leanne, Charity felt rather like a twelve-year-old niece herself with her Uncle Bernie and Aunt Marta. Charity liked to think of them as family when in reality she was so completely on her own.

The day was crisp and cool, and Charity wore a long knit poncho. She smiled at the feel of the open poncho floating along as she walked past giraffes and okapi, because it reminded her of her witch robes. After viewing many of the outdoor exhibits, the four of them ducked into the reptile house. Charity wandered toward a very large snake and noticed a warning sign next to his encasement:

**Brazilian Boa**

Interesting fact: Six years ago

this very snake attempted to

escape and made it as far as

the bear grotto. While zoo

authorities have no idea how

he managed it, we assure you

it won't happen again.

Charity stood transfixed by the snake for a long while and thought she read something sad in its crimson eyes. When its smooth face and the black slits of its pupils began to look too familiar, she shuddered and backed away. She rejoined the others and they headed out of the building.

As they made their way across the zoo, they strolled past the cage of a large Golden Eagle. Charity admired the striking figure it made with its hooked beak and piercing black eyes.

"Why, it looks just like Severus, doesn't it?" she found herself murmuring out loud.

"Pardon?" asked Bernie, "What's '_Severus_'"

"Oh, someone I knew at University."

"Rather an odd name, isn't it?"

"Not nearly as odd as the wizard himself," Charity replied under her breath.

As they continued on, the group decided to pair off when Bernie became intensely interested in primates and dragged Marta off in that direction. Meanwhile, Charity and Leanne were drawn to the smaller, furrier creatures. The two girls delighted in the spunky meerkats and slippery otters while Charity told Leanne all about Bnickel. Leanne was an enthusiastic listener with a healthy curiosity, so Charity went on to tell her about small furry magical creatures like Jarveys, Nifflers and Kneazles.

Of course, Leanne thought it was all just made up, but Charity sensed the girl's excitement at the possibility that just maybe these creatures could exist…_somewhere_. That's when Charity first realized that Muggle children were the key to gaining general Muggle acceptance of the magical world. Until now Charity's efforts had been focused on wizards' acceptance of Muggles, but wasn't the reverse equally important? In both cases, the rich imaginations and unprejudiced minds of children were the ticket to unity. Charity wanted to give Leanne's imagination a chance to really run wild, so she let slip mention of Nargles, fictional creatures frequently mentioned in one of the far-fetched wizard rags that her father so despised.

"What's a Nargle?" Leanne asked.

"Well, no one really knows, do they? After all, very few people will admit to even believing they exist." Leanne's shoulders slumped, and Charity added, "All I know is that they are very mischievous and like to hide in small shrubs." With a sideways glance at Leanne, Charity asked, "What do you know about them?" Lean responded with a spirited description of tiny creatures with bubble-shaped bodies that changed colors at will.

As Leanne finished her verbal portrait, Bernie rejoined them with Marta perched on his back. The first thing Charity noticed was a beaming smile on Marta's face, which added a wonderful new dimension to her boney features. The next thing Charity noticed was a shiny diamond on Marta's left hand. Charity threw her hands up to her face and gasped. Marta's smile grew wider and she buried her head into Bernie's back. Bernie's round face danced – from sparkling eyes to wide toothy grin as he shouted, "She said yes!"

Leanne looked confused, so Charity explained, "They're engaged!" Leanne screamed and rushed to hug her uncle-to-be, nearly knocking both he and Marta over.

"Congratulations!" beamed Charity. She couldn't stop herself from asking, "But, why'd you do it at the zoo?"

"Ah, yes, an excellent question," replied Bernie. "You see, I've been carrying this thing around with me for weeks," he explained, gesturing towards the ring. "Waiting for just the right moment. Then today, as we was standing there watching the Chimps eating bugs off each other and playing with their own poo, I thought '_Bernie, this is the best you're ever going to look, relatively speaking_' and I knew this was the moment I'd been waiting for."

Marta had unburied her head by then and let loose a machine gun of a laugh. Charity and Leanne laughed with her, and they all celebrated with fizzy drinks and sausages from a nearby vending cart. As the happy group circled back by the eagles after their meal, Charity hung back to study the majestic creature. She couldn't let go of a thought that had taken hold of her ever since first spying the bird - Snape seemed to be able to do everything else, why couldn't he be an animagus?

When the others had walked ahead, she whispered, "Severus? Severus, is it you?"

The eagle only looked down and began pecking at a scrap of rat left over from lunch. Charity shook her head at her own silliness and walked away, but she turned to cast a final suspicious glance at the regal animal. Even though she knew the eagle was nothing more than just that - an eagle - and even though she didn't exactly trust Snape at the moment, Charity had gained some sort of comfort to think that maybe someone from the magical world was looking out for her.

The trip to the zoo came to an abrupt end as dark clouds came rolling in, seemingly from nowhere. Winds picked up and small pellets of hail rained down on Charity, Bernie, Marta and Leanne just as they jumped into Bernie's little car. Sudden storms like this were becoming the norm. The Muggles attributed it to changes in the earth's atmosphere as the result of ongoing pollution and something called El Nino, but Charity knew better - Voldemort was gaining power and the tentacles of his domain were gripping the Muggle world.

Violent storms weren't the only odd happenings recently. Toward the end of summer, a restaurant on Tottenham Court road had been blown to bits from the inside, yet no one who was there seemed to have any clear memory of exactly what had happened. A few weeks ago there had been reports of a scuffle and strange disappearances in a public restroom not too far from Charity's apartment. Other stories abounded and Charity longed to know exactly what all of this meant.

She couldn't help but feel guilty for hiding away in the safety of her anonymity while the magical world was so obviously in peril. In her deeper meditations, Charity considered that she _did_ hold the power to take down one of Voldemort's top servants; if she revealed that Snape had saved her, surely Voldemort would retaliate on him. But that wasn't something Charity could bring herself to do. Besides wanting to spare herself from Voldemort's wrath, she felt a sort of loyalty toward Snape for saving her life. Also, although Charity would never admit it, there was just a speck of hope deep within her that maybe, somehow, Snape was not the monster that the wizarding world believed him to be.


	20. The Mission

Chapter 20

The Mission

As fall wore on and Halloween approached, Charity's homesickness grew. Perhaps it was the appearance of Muggle versions of witches and ghosts in storefront windows that did it. She often thought of the annual Halloween feast at Hogwarts and wondered what it would be like this year. Thinking of her own parents' hesitation to send their grown daughter back to the school, she supposed that many of the students' parents had likewise kept their children closer to home this year. It was sad and frustrating to think that the way of life she'd known was being destroyed bit by bit, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

One drizzly fall day, Charity came home from a particularly boring time at the museum. She'd spent the afternoon alone in the storeroom cataloging items that may never even make the museum display. She'd never expected, nor wanted, to learn so very much about the history of military camouflage. As usual, Charity's first glance upon entering her flat was towards Bnickel's cage as she called out, "Hullo, baby."

On this day the rabbit lay motionless in his cage. He was on his side with his all-white tummy facing her and his legs kicked out at an odd angle. Charity's heart sank deep into her gut before he stirred and stretched out his front paws, opening his little mouth into a comically fierce-looking yawn. Charity breathed a deep sigh of relief. She'd come to rely on the presence of this friendly puff of fur to get her through these lonely days.

Bnickel began his usual fidgeting inside his cage in anticipation of her taking him out to play. She picked him up and scolded him for giving her such a scare. She was actually scolding herself - she'd seen her bunny sleeping hundreds of times before and usually only cooed at how precious he looked. Why was she so quick to think the worst now?

The Halloween decorations faded away and were soon replaced by twinkling lights and garlands and cute little smiley elves in pointy hats. Charity laughed to herself when she wondered how keen Muggles would be to display more realistic depictions of elves all over their homes and shops.

Meanwhile, increasing evidence spread throughout England that Voldemort was gaining influence. Charity noticed more and more stories in the Muggle press about mysterious deaths that the Muggle police had trouble explaining. There couldn't possibly be _that_ many gas leaks in the country. At least every other week a small bridge or tunnel inexplicably collapsed, injuring or killing several people. The Muggle Prime Minister was under fire for not allocating enough resources for upkeep of the country's infrastructure. He grew paler and more emaciated every time he appeared in public.

"All the money in the world won't save us from what's happening,"' Charity muttered darkly as she watched the newscasts.

In early December, Charity joined hundreds of others in Trafalgar Square for the lighting of the Norwegian Christmas tree and found the ceremony to be just as beautiful as she had remembered. She even joined in with the choir singing Christmas carols, lifting her worries for a bit. Charity expected her holidays to be tolerably cheerful as Bernie and Marta had invited her to spend Christmas Day with their families, and she'd volunteered to be a hostess at the museum's New Year's Eve Gala.

Three days before Christmas Eve, Charity was watching her new favorite television program when there was a 'pop' in the corner of the room. She turned her head toward the noise and saw Snape standing there.

He spotted her on the sofa, nodded his head, and said very formally, "Miss Burbage."

Charity said nothing but just stared at him, trying to absorb the fact that a man had suddenly appeared in her flat out of nowhere. She'd been in the Muggle world six months now and was no longer used to such things happening in daily life. Even amongst wizards it was considered very rude to apparate directly inside someone else's home. A courteous knock on the door was the norm, but these were not normal times, and Snape was not known for his courtesy.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking a bit concerned and taking a step toward her.

"Yes," she said, quickly shaking off her stupor and standing up as he approached. "Yes. It's just that after all these months alone…not used to visitors, you know."

There was a definite flame of sarcasm in her voice. The sight of Snape had suddenly awoken a resentment that Charity hadn't fully realized was there. Now that resentment welled up inside of her, and she felt ready to burst with it.

"Just me, left here to rot for all anyone cares. So nice of you to 'pop' in, though. CAN I MAKE YOU A SPOT OF tea?" Charity shouted. They stared at each other, both of them realizing that there was very little chance of tea.

"I suggest you calm down, Miss Burbage," Snape said in a provokingly calm tone. "I'm sure I needn't remind you that your current situation is a touch better than what it could have been – as snake excrement."

Knowing he was perfectly right on this point, Charity turned her anger in another direction. She forced her voice into a quavering calm and told him, "You know, I thought I saw you a while back." Snape's eyebrows went up with interest. "Yes, I went to the zoo and there you were in the cage marked 'Golden Eagle' with your great hooked beak and mean black eyes. I thought it really must be you when it started chewing on the head of a poor, defenseless creature."

Snape said nothing but stood silently, taking the abuse. Charity felt guilty when she caught a wounded look flash briefly in his dark eyes before being covered by ice. She tried to soften her offensive remarks by adding, "Ah, not to worry, I suppose we've all got our animal counterparts, like McGonagall and her cat."

"I suppose _you_ would be a rabbit," Snape finally said, jerking his head towards Bnickel's cage. Was he purposely reminding her of his kind gesture in bringing her the bunny?

"Mmm, no. Bnickel is his own man," Charity answered. "I'm a bit more flighty. I'd be some kind of bird._ Not_ an eagle!" she was quick to add. She shot Snape a spiteful look through narrowed eyes as she clarified, "I'm a little, happy bird!"

"So I see," he said dryly, rolling his eyes away from her.

With her anger somewhat vented, Charity took a deep breath and asked what she really wanted to know, "How is…everything? Are you and your _friends _any closer to taking over the world? I see you're doing quite a good job at terrifying the Muggles."

"I can't tell you anything," was his only answer. Then he said, "I need you to do something for me."

What could he possibly need her to do? _Why_ would she possibly do it?

He must have expected this hesitation, because he suddenly gripped her forearms and peered into her eyes while he spoke quickly and earnestly in what seemed like a prepared speech, "I _know_ I'm asking a lot of you, especially because I cannot give any explanation. You have every reason not to trust me, but I did save your life, and now I _need_ you to trust me and do this one thing."

Charity was confused. How could he be asking her to trust him after everything? Why was she starting to feel like she _wanted_ to trust him? She realized now that there had always been a small part of her that still believed he was good. The trouble was that there was a much bigger part of her that told her to steer clear of anything to do with Severus Snape.

Regardless, she saw that she didn't really have a choice in the matter. No one who cared about her knew where she was. As far as most of them were concerned she was already dead, so it would be a very little matter for Snape to kill her right now if she refused to help. Of course, he had made no such threat, but Charity reasoned that was bound to be the next step. So she agreed to help him.

Her mission was to take place on the day of Christmas Eve. Snape produced a package wrapped in brown paper that she was to take to the Underground station at Queensway. She was to discreetly place the package under one of the pillars in the station and then report the suspicious package to a Muggle security guard. That was the plan. Plus one last thing:

"You may see some familiar faces around the Queensway station that day. Avoid eye contact with anyone. You _do not_ want them to recognize you." His eyes then flicked to her hair which had returned of its own accord to its naturally golden curls. It wasn't as long as it had been when she'd left Hogwarts but had grown longer than it was when Snape had last seen her. She prepared for a new styling, but Snape merely suggested, "Wear a hat."

Snape left the lumpy package with Charity and instructed her not to open it or handle it unnecessarily. All she could make out from her gentle examination was that it contained several hard, skinny, tube-like items. She was to tighten the package's stiff brown strings just before setting it down at the station. Initially, she chose the top of Bnickel's cage as a safe spot to store it for a few days. Bnickel was very curious and stood up on his strong hind legs, sniffing at it. When he started swiping at it with his tiny front paws, Charity decided it was time to move the package to her nightstand. All the while she worried about what was in there; Snape, of course, hadn't told her.

Charity was filled with apprehension on Christmas Eve as she caught the tube at Russell Square and rode the Underground to the Queensway station. What exactly was she on her way to do? She had thoughts of abandoning the mission. What if Snape was using her to commit some horrific crime on behalf of Voldemort? But surely there were loads of Death Eaters to do his bidding. Why would they need Charity?

Unless they were using her because she was expendable, and this was some kind of suicide mission. Would the package explode the moment she tightened the strings, taking down hundreds of Muggles along with herself? The late afternoon timing made sense; several businesses would be closing early so employees could get a start on the holidays.

A few things didn't make sense in this scenario: If she was carrying out a mission for Voldemort, wouldn't Snape have had to have told him who was doing it, revealing his own secret? Also, would Snape have gone through the trouble of saving Charity's life just to take it later? Unless that was precisely the reason he had saved her – so that he could use her for whatever this mission was. But then why would he have kept her a secret from Voldemort? Charity's thoughts went back and forth and back again all afternoon.

Even as she arrived at the Queensway station, she wasn't sure whether or not she was actually going to go through with the plan. She still had half an hour to think about it. After identifying the correct platform and the exact post where she was to place the package, she lugged her giant purse containing the mysterious cylindrical items up the stairs and out of the station so she could breathe in some fresh air. She hoped that would relieve the pressure building in her chest. A brisk wind blew, and she was glad to be wearing the woolen hat Snape had suggested.

She tried to divert her inner musings by keeping a lookout for any of those familiar faces Snape had warned her about. Would they be Death Eaters or would they be good wizards and witches that Voldemort would want killed in this public way? Well, she told herself, if they were Death Eaters then she'd know she was safe, because surely what's-his-face wouldn't want to blow up any of his followers. Unless these were followers that had betrayed him. So much for the diversion.

It was time to make her choice. She closed her eyes tightly, reached deep inside herself and found her answer - Snape had asked her to trust him so she would, possibly for the last time in her life. She said a quick but intense prayer then walked through the thickening press of bodies to the designated platform and post.

Charity nonchalantly pulled the package from her big purse, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and held her breath while she pulled the strings taught. A dull ticking noise sounded through the wrapping, but nothing else happened. Charity was so thrilled about not immediately exploding that she nearly forgot what she was supposed to do next. Recollecting herself, she set the package down and searched the platform for the security officer, spotting him about twenty feet down the platform. As she headed toward him, she spotted them in the crowd – familiar faces.

She recognized a tall blonde gentleman as someone from the Ministry who was often photographed along with other officials. Next to him was a small, dark-haired woman with crazy eyes, whom Charity felt certain must have been at the table that night with Voldemort, because an involuntary chill ran through her spine the moment she saw the woman full in the face. The couple reached the bottom of the stairs and then split up to head toward opposite ends of the platform. Charity sped up her pace to the security guard and reported the suspicious, ticking package to him. The guard was on his walkie immediately, and another guard quickly appeared next to the package, inspecting it. After a few moments he signaled the other officer, and both men blew whistles and announced to the crowd that the station was being evacuated.

More Underground personnel appeared and began an orderly evacuation. Charity peered through the crowd for the familiar faces and saw that the witch was very near the closest security guard. The witch was targeting the officer with a focused stare. Her lips moved as if reciting an incantation. It looked to Charity as if she was trying to confund the officer. From the dazed look that was beginning to creep onto his face, Charity could see that the spell was working. The officer started to raise his walkie, and it looked as if some invisible force was controlling his arm. Acting on instinct, Charity cut across the platform and forcefully knocked into the witch, who staggered and tripped. Charity gave another glance back to the officer, who had lowered the walkie and was again directing the crowd with clear eyes. Charity was relieved when the crazy-eyed witch soon became swept up into the crowd heading out of the station.

Charity kept her head down as she made her way out of the Underground, taking the staircase opposite the one into which the witch had disappeared. Once outside, she moved as far away from the station as fast as she could without regard as to where exactly she was heading. When her breathing began to slow and she was again able to focus on her surroundings, Charity found herself in the middle of Hyde Park.

She took a moment to catch her breath and felt the ground rumble under her feet from some sort of under ground disturbance. Had the package she left done that? While Charity stood frozen, she heard a collective gasp of astonishment emerge from the crowd gathered back by Queensway station. She turned toward the sound, and through the bare branches overhead, she saw a glittering mass hovering above the station. After squinting and moving to get a clearer view, she recognized the mass as the Dark Mark, the same skull and snake symbol that was engraved on Snape's arm.

The events since she had first set down the package had occurred in such rapidity that Charity didn't know what to make of it all. One thing was certain - the Death Eaters were becoming ever bolder. To think that they conjured the Dark Mark right in the midst of Muggle territory!

Charity was wary about re-entering the Underground in another station, so she continued across the park. She figured the cold walk would be a good opportunity to clear her head and try to sort out the details. As she made her way through the vast expanse of the park, an unexpected calm settled over her. The rolling, open space had put her in mind of the Hogwarts grounds, and she found comfort in the imagined image of a giant squid trolling around in the chilly depths of the Serpentine Lake.

Charity finally arrived in St. James Park just as dusk was setting in. She took a few minutes to rest on a bench there and think. It was getting colder as the sun went down, and she still hadn't made any progress at all in figuring out what exactly had happened back in the Underground. She realized that she needed to get in front of a television set; surely the Muggle news would not ignore something as spectacular as the enormous Dark Mark hovering over one of its Underground stations. She shuddered at the thought and became desperate to return to the safety of her flat. She decided to risk her life once more that day and climbed into the back of a London cab.

Charity remained glued to her small television set for the rest of Christmas Eve. Without the fake snow and tinsel decorating the television news room and the occasional heartwarming news piece, she would hardly have remembered that it was a holiday. When she had first snapped on the TV, she saw a reporter stationed live at the Queensway station.

"_This is Molly Shankworth standing in front of Queensway Station, where just a short time ago, an entire platform exploded under mysterious circumstances. We are still awaiting information on exactly how many passengers were present in the station at that time. Moments after the explosion, a large firework appeared over the station in the shape of a skull with a giant serpent protruding from the mouth. The firework was of extremely high quality and it is assumed that someone with a great deal of experience with such materials was behind it. Police are currently investigating the incident but have reported no suspects as of yet_."

Twenty minutes later there was a newsflash.

"_We've just learned that not long before the explosion occurred, a passenger in the Queensway station had reported a suspicious package. As a precautionary measure, station security evacuated all platforms just prior to the explosion_."

Soon afterwards, scrolling words at the bottom of the television screen read: **False alarm saves hundreds.**

Molly was back again on the late news with this report: "_This afternoon at the Queensway station of the London Underground, a suspicious package was reported. The package, which turned out to be nothing more than a bag of carrots, nevertheless triggered an evacuation of the train station because of its suspicious nature. Normally a false alarm such as this would cause a great deal of irritation, but today that false alarm saved hundreds of lives. Just moments after the station had been cleared, it exploded in electrical charges that glowed green. The British Police are still investigating exactly what caused the electric works and how they may be related to the firework that appeared over the station moments later. This is Molly Shankworth reporting for the BBC._"

Toward the end of the newscast the anchor broke in excitedly with BREAKING NEWS: "_We've just been informed that the Prime Minister himself was on his way to the Queensway station just moments before the explosion, when he was stopped because of the investigation into the suspicious package. He was taking an unannounced ride on the Underground, ironically as publicity to prove that London's transportation system is perfectly safe despite unusual recent events. Police are still investigating the explosion and no suspects have been named as of yet; however, the list of those wishing to do the Prime Minister harm these days will likely be quite long. Needless to say, had he entered the Underground and been killed by the electrical surge, the entirety of the United Kingdom would be in uproar at this very moment_."

Suddenly everything clicked - Snape knew of the plan to kill the Prime Minister and had used Charity to foil that plan. Setting aside for the moment the disturbing fact that an attempt on the Muggle Prime Minister meant Voldemort's quest for ultimate power was dangerously close to fruition, Charity was overtaken by her personal joy at this irrefutable proof that Snape was good.

"Severus is good! Severus is good!" she shouted out loud and then squealed and danced around her tiny flat with Bnickel in such a raucous celebration that she drew a pounding from the neighbor next door as well as the one below. Charity celebrated not only for herself, but also for the whole of the wizarding and Muggle worlds, because now she understood that there was a very talented and cunning insider working as a double agent for the good side. Severus Snape was working for the good side!

When Charity finally fell asleep in the very first hours of Christmas day, she was disturbed by dreams of the Death Eaters she'd seen in the Underground. They were dressed in dark, ominous cloaks and had snuck into her apartment to kidnap her and take her back to Voldemort. She woke with a start from her restless sleep when she sensed someone in the room with her. This time it wasn't a dream. There was a dark figure standing near her window.

She glanced over at Bnickel's hutch. The rabbit's wide, alert eyes were focused on the intruder. His long ears pricked, and he crouched as if ready to pounce. Charity clutched her blankets to her and struggled to sit up. As she did so, the figure took a step toward her, but before she could scream, she saw that it was Snape.

"Severus?...Severus!" she screamed and bounded out of bed to him. In one motion she was on him – legs around his waist, arms around his neck, kissing his face repeatedly, and saying in between kisses, "You're good! You're good!"

It is not possible that a man like Severus Snape could have been comfortable in such a position, yet he made no attempt to remove her. Charity even thought she felt his grip tighten around her waist. When her initial burst ended, Charity slowly let herself down to the ground and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward her kitchenette. This was the best gift Father Christmas could have sent her.

"Let me make you some tea," Charity said breathlessly. "I've become quite good at it. Let's see we have…"

"I must go," Snape said flatly.

"What? No!" Charity said, wheeling around on him. "No."

"If I don't leave presently, I'll be missed. I've already stayed to long. I only came to make sure you were alright." Snape was firm in his words, but Charity could see that he didn't like saying them.

She moved closer to him, pleading with her shining eyes. "But I've only just gotten you back. Please don't leave me again," she begged as spontaneous tears began to well in her eyes.

Snape's eyes shifted in thought, and then he said, "Friday. Yes, the day after this. I can meet you in the evening – six o'clock."

"Friday," Charity repeated hopefully. "Yes, I'll wait for you here on Friday."

"Not here. I've been coming here too often; someone may become suspicious. Some place private, where we won't be seen."

Now it was Charity's turn to think. "How about the classical inscriptions section on the lower level of the British Museum?" she offered. "Nobody ever goes in there."

Snape thought about it before answering, "Yes. I'll meet you there. Friday, six in the evening. But you must promise me – no questions."

"No questions," Charity promised then lifted up on her tiptoes and gave Snape one last peck on the cheek before he turned and was gone.


	21. A Forest

Chapter 21

A Forest

The next two days were agony for Charity as she waited for Friday evening. She only stayed at Bernie and Marta's Christmas party long enough to eat Christmas dinner and exchange gifts with Leanne before politely excusing herself with the claim of a terrible headache. She truly was exhausted, but she was mostly concerned that she wouldn't be able to stop herself from bursting forth with all of her happy (and incriminating) revelations if she stayed long in company with others.

At last the day and time arrived. Charity neatly finished up her work at the museum and was careful not to be seen by any of her co-workers as she made her way down to the classical inscriptions room. She stood in the deserted exhibit hall, gazing absently at the ancient Greek and Roman engravings, when she heard a soft 'pop'. There he was, his dark eyes casually, nevertheless expertly, scanning his surroundings to make sure he and Charity were alone. In three large paces he made his way to her. Keeping his deep voice low, he informed her that there had been a last minute change in plans. He instructed her to take his hand and they'd be on their way.

After living with Muggles as she had been, Snape suddenly struck Charity as a dangerous man - appearing out of nowhere, dressed all in black with his severe personal appearance, telling her in hurried whispers to come with him to who knows where. A prudent woman would hesitate to trust such a man. Charity, on the other hand, merely beamed at him and eagerly grasped his hand.

"No questions," Snape reminded her.

"No questions," she replied and was off on a side-along disapparition with Snape. The disapparition, which feels rather like being sucked through the most unforgiving pair of stockings (ten sizes too small), felt both suffocating and heavenly to Charity. It was the first magic she'd actually felt in a very long time and she was positively exhilarated by the time they landed in the middle of a non-descript forest. A thousand questions sprang into her head, but she would keep her promise. She reflected that it would actually be a relief to turn off her curiosity for a bit. The next thing she knew, she was asking a bona fide question.

"Does the vow go on hiatus when I'm with you? Can I do magic?" she asked.

Snape didn't reprimand her for this immediate infringement, probably because the question didn't involve divulging any secrets, but he didn't give her a very satisfactory answer either. "No, I'm afraid not. The vow doesn't care who you're with," he explained.

Deflated but still happy to be in company with Snape, Charity stood silent and pressed her lips tightly together before any potentially offensive queries could escape. Snape also stood silent for several minutes with a bewildered expression on his face. For as much as he took command back at the museum, he was now at an utter loss as to what to do now that they were alone.

Unable to stand the uncomfortable silence, Charity charitably spoke up, "Well, I wouldn't mind watching you have a go at some magic then." This seemed to snap Snape into focus and he began casting a protective charm in a circle around them to inhibit any Muggles that might happen by in the frosty forest. Within the protective circle he quickly conjured a table, two stiff, leather arm chairs, and a blue fire, which warmed up the entire enclosure so much that Charity slipped off her woolen coat. She was thrilled to be in such close proximity to magic once again and gasped and chirped her excitement while Snape worked. Although his face didn't dare show it, Charity guessed by his frequent glances toward her that he rather enjoyed having an adoring audience.

Once the camp was set and darkness had taken a firm hold on the forest surrounding their enclosure, Snape caught Charity off-guard by abruptly announcing that he was leaving. "I have some last minute business to attend to," was the only explanation he offered.

"Business…in the forest?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Rather sounds like a question."

"Sorry," Charity said. Since the only thing she could think to say at this point was another question, she remained in confused silence.

Snape commented, "You should be very comfortable here, so there's no reason for you to leave this immediate area. I don't know what else may be lurking in the forest, and I cannot guarantee your safety outside the protective charms." Just before he stepped out of the circle, Snape stopped and pulled a bag from his cloak and tossed it to Charity. She caught it as he conjured two large ceramic mugs and a small pan on the table. "Feel free to mix up some refreshments." Then he stalked off into the forest, crunching the snow as he went.

Charity opened the bag and found cocoa, sugar, a small container of milk, and two peppermint sticks. She busied herself at the blue fire with the ingredients. By the time he came back, she'd have two steaming cups of hot cocoa. She laughed to herself as she stirred and imagined Snape pulling something as innocent as a canister of peppermint sticks out from between a jar of pickled wolves tongues and a tube of puss from some rare and disgusting plant.

Soon these thoughts passed and Charity was back to wondering what this business in the forest could be and whether or not he'd tell her about it when he came back. She eventually had the two mugs filled, but he still hadn't returned. She sipped her cocoa, realizing that she'd never had dinner and was beginning to get hungry. Starving and alone. Perfect. The forest around her was now pitch black with only a few stars shining their bleak light through the thick, black branches above her. Just when Snape had regained Charity's faith, serious doubts crept back into her mind.

"What is he playing at?" she asked herself aloud. She'd thought he asked her to meet him today because he wanted to spend more time together. Instead, he was out lurking around the forest. Or was that just what he wanted her to think? Now that he had used her to complete his mission at the Underground, had he decided he didn't need her any more and she was no longer worth the risk? He'd told her to remain in the protective circle…did he mean for her to stay here forever until she eventually rotted away? Or was it not even actually a _protective_ circle? Was it really some sort of cage to keep her in?

She took another sip of her cocoa…the cocoa! Snape had easy access to all sorts of powders and roots - was the cocoa poisoned? She felt in her pocket for a bezoar but found nothing. She'd been vigilant about carrying the stones with her during her first weeks as a Muggle but had become complacent as the months went by. If she ever made it back to her little apartment alive, she'd make sure to renew her vigilance on that front. She'd already drank over half of her mug and wasn't ill yet, so she figured it must be safe and kept drinking to quell her hunger pangs. Besides, if Snape was going to kill her, why would he go through all this trouble rather than just quickly doing the job. He hadn't built a cozy little den for Dumbledore right before he'd killed _him_……Dumbledore……that was a subject that still gnawed at Charity. She knew now that Snape was working for the good side, but how could killing Dumbledore have been of any help to the cause, other than to secure Snape in Voldemort's good graces? Did that really justify cold blooded murder? Or had Snape only come over to the good side very recently, _after_ he'd killed Dumbledore?

Snape's cocoa was now completely cold and forming a milk skin at the top. "Let's say he's not going to kill me," Charity announced to the forest. "Why am I here?" He'd said that plans had changed. Surely his initial intentions hadn't included leaving Charity. He probably hadn't expected these new plans to take so long……maybe they weren't supposed to take so long……maybe Snape had walked into some sort of danger out in the forest! He had warned Charity that he couldn't guarantee her safety outside the protective barrier, so how could he guarantee his own? She gazed into the ominous darkness of the forest.

The only thing Charity knew for certain was that she would go insane if she continued to sit here with all these thoughts running circles in her head. In a highly incensed attempt to escape her own mind, she impetuously marched off into the forest, leaving the security of the protective charm. She had enough of her wits about her to stick to only one direction; she knew she'd get lost otherwise without the aid of magic. She crunched through the snow, occasionally snapping a fallen branch under foot as she wove her way around the black trees. After walking for a long while into the dark night, her temper cooled, and she started to regret her impulsive decision to leave the safety of camp, particularly since her wool coat was back there. She slowed her walking and was about to turn back when she suddenly froze to her spot.

She heard something running through the forest, crunching the snow and snapping brittle branches. She peered through the trees and noticed a bright light moving in the distance. She squinted her eyes and could just make it out – a glowing figure. It wasn't a ghost; this figure was radiating its own light and was more of a silvery color. She felt as if she knew what it was, although she couldn't put her finger on it. She cautiously took a step closer to hide behind a large tree and get a better view of the silver figure, which she now recognized as some sort of skinny woodland creature. Then it clicked – this was a Patronus. Charity had never seen a Patronus before, but she'd read about these high-end charms in _Magical Me_, the autobiography by Gilderoy Lockhart.

As Lockhart had written, _'A successful Patronus glows a brilliant silver and takes the distinct form of an animal. Only the most powerful Patronus will generate a glow so brilliant that none but the spell caster himself can see it, as is the case with mine.'_ Clearly this Patronus was not as powerful as Lockhart's, but its distinct animal shape proved it successful nonetheless.

Charity figured that Snape must be conjuring the charm, but why? She remembered reading that a Patronus was essentially the embodiment of the most positive, pleasant feelings of the conjuror, and she suddenly felt as if she was eavesdropping on something private. Something she wasn't meant to see. Regaining her mobility, Charity made her way as quickly and as quietly as she could back to camp. Once back in the warm protection, she threw herself into one of the leather armchairs with her heart pounding wildly. She didn't know what to make of the Patronus in the forest.

It was still nearly half an hour before Snape returned. This was enough time for Charity's irritation to mount again. What _was_ he playing at? It was in this irritable state that she greeted Snape with stony silence when he finally returned. He was winded and his glittering, black eyes darted about. Clearly his mind was elsewhere. He didn't even seem to notice Charity sitting there, fuming at him with her arms tightly crossed.

Charity was desperate for a reaction from Snape, so she dashed the ineffective silent treatment and asked sharply, "Was that your Patronus back there?"

Snape seemed startled by the sound of another voice and turned his head half way towards her, keeping his gaze absently fixed on some point in the distance. He answered quietly, "Yes."

Charity was surprised that he didn't show any anger at her for venturing out into the forest. He still didn't even seem totally aware of who he was talking to. This did not set well with Charity.

"Well it looked kind of scrawny," she said bitingly. "What was it anyhow? Some kind of a--"

Snape cut her off with a firm, "Doe."

"A deer? A female deer?" Charity asked.

Snape didn't answer.

"A bit effeminate isn't it?" Charity said with a sneer, still pushing for a reaction. Any reaction.

Snape sunk down to sit on the ground and answered sadly, "I should hope so."

Charity finally looked clearly at Snape, exhausted and somewhat pathetic on the forest floor. He was completely disconcerted. Something traumatic must have happened to him in the forest. Charity immediately regretted having behaved like such a spoiled child. What was making him so sad? Something to do with the Patronus she was willing to bet. A doe really was a rather odd form for a man's Patronus to take. What did it mean? She wished she knew more about Patronus Charms. Then she remembered something - the shape of the Patronus usually symbolized something or some_one_ important to the wizard performing the charm. She thought back to something Snape had told her a long time ago and thought she understood. In a gentle tone, she asked, "The one you lost to Voldemort?"

In answer, a rare tear rolled down Severus' rough cheek.

So it was a woman he'd lost. "Your mother?" she ventured.

This drew an even rarer chuckle from Snape as he said, "No, my mother was not the type to inspire Patronuses."

A silence settled over them. Lost in her own thoughts, Charity knelt down to sit next to Snape. She had always supposed that she'd been the first woman to make any progress in breaking through Snape's hard outer shell. To think that there had been someone before her…then again, maybe that person was the reason Snape had closed up so tightly in the first place.

Since Charity's thoughts didn't long roam alone inside her head, she inadvertently murmured aloud, "I don't suppose I can compete with a dead woman who inspires Patronuses."

Snape's intense gaze, which had been focused on the dirt and needles at his feet, snapped onto Charity. He spoke to her with feeling that she had not heard from him since the night that Dumbledore died, "It's not a competition," he said earnestly. "You are more real…the most real…"

He stared deep into her eyes and she held his gaze. She was brought back to that night back at Hogwarts so many months ago, when Snape had come to her room without explanation, and her feelings for him had been so intense. She was consumed again with burning questions about why Snape had killed Dumbledore, but now there was something new. She realized that she didn't need to know. She trusted Snape. It was as simple as that. When he was ready to explain to her, he would. Until then, she would simply trust that he had his reasons. That's what her heart had been telling her all along, and now she was going to put her mind to rest on the issue.

Charity broke from this reverie and found herself back in the forest, kneeling next to Snape with his arms wrapped around her waist. There was something in the way he held her that made her forget the last hours of tortured wondering. Somehow in these last few moments he had gained her unconditional loyalty. They stared at each other for several moments before Snape leaned toward Charity, and she eagerly pressed into him for a long, deep kiss. Deeper than any they'd shared before.

His strong hands moved over her waist and up her back while she clutched his shoulders, holding him close. Snape's mouth left hers to kiss across her face and down her throat. As Charity felt Snape's warm breath travel down the side of her neck, she told him in a husky whisper, "I trust you, Severus."

He pulled his head back and looked up at her. His black eyes glittered with a warm passion. Charity stared straight down into them and repeated, "I trust you."

"I know," he replied simply with an expression that was something like happiness.

"Oh, you know, do you?" she said playfully. When he responded with a devilish smirk, she fell onto him, sending them both toppling over. Snape grunted when his back hit the hard ground, and Charity laughed as she landed on top of him. He gently flipped her onto her back and they continued wrestling on the forest floor, locked in a long embrace.

When they finally separated, Snape sat up and peered intently at the forest around them. "It's gotten very late and I'm afraid there's been too much magic in this forest tonight," he said quietly.

"Well, _someone_ thinks a lot of himself," Charity teased as she pulled the remnants of a dried leaf out of her hair. Snape glanced at her and appeared to consider smiling, but instead he turned back to search the forest.

"It will be too risky to take down the barriers and leave tonight. We must wait until morning. You sleep here," he said, getting up and constructing a small tent. "I'll keep watch."

"The whole night?"

"Is that a question?" he said, flashing an uncharacteristically playful eye at her and sitting down in one of the stiff leather chairs.

Bending down in front of him, Charity brushed Snape's creased forehead with her full lips and softly told him, "I want in Severus." She rested her forehead on his and explained, "I know not right now, but someday I want to know everything, _everything_ that goes on in that brilliant mind of yours." They locked eyes for a long moment, then Charity gave him a quick peck on his mouth and disappeared into the tent, where she fell into an exhausted sleep with a satisfied smile on her face.

Snape woke her just before daybreak. Everything was neatly packed up, including the mattress she'd been sleeping on, and Charity was hovering in the air, inches above the forest floor. The moment she sat up, the hover charm broke, and she thudded firmly onto the ground. Brushing a few sharp pine needles from her bottom, she said to Snape, "Well, aren't you the early Niffler getting the gold."

Snape ignored her comment and brusquely told her to prepare to disapparate. The ice was back in his voice. This was good-bye, as he'd be disapparating again the moment she released his hand. Charity was undaunted by this abrupt change in his manner. She was learning about Severus Snape, and she suspected that he wouldn't really mind if at the last second, instead of just holding onto his hand, she stepped in under his cloak and wrapped herself around him. She held on tightly the whole way.

Snape kept his arms around Charity a few extra seconds upon landing back in London and softly whispered into her hair, "I think it won't be long now."

Stepping away from him at that moment was just about the hardest thing Charity had ever had to do.


	22. Waiting

Chapter 22

Waiting

Charity took Snape's whispered words to mean that his business in the forest was the impetus behind a quick close to the struggles of the wizarding world. This would also mean an end to her days as a Muggle, so she set forth in her daily activities with a new sense of purpose. She began actually writing some of her Muggle research papers from an insider's perspective and tried to soak up all the information she could from the museum.

One afternoon, Mr. Duster came rushing into her gallery with his glasses slightly askew and his hair a bit rumpled. The museum director was very busy these days, because the museum was beginning a major renovation after the removal of its Library departments to St. Pancras. A restoration of the Great Court and Reading Room was under way.

"Miss Burnham (_Charity's Muggle name_) can you spare an hour or so? A group of students have arrived, and the scheduled tour guide, Miss Mimsey, has just gone home with a sore throat. Can you fill in for her?"

"Certainly," said Charity without hesitation. The thought of working with students again was very welcome to her.

"Oh, wonderful," Mr. Duster replied hurriedly just before turning and rushing back toward the museum entrance. On his way, he called back to her, "I'll have the security guard bring the students to you. Just tell them what you know and read the little signs when you get stuck." He may have said more, but his voice was fading fast as he dodged construction debris. A few minutes later, Bernie appeared, leading a group of students and their teacher.

"Alrighty then, I'll see you back at the entrance," Bernie said. Then he winked at the students and added out of the corner of his mouth, "Good luck to you."

At that point most of the students cast a cautious glance at Charity.

Charity looked steadily at the students, pointed at Bernie, and said, "Whatever he's told you about me, I assure you it isn't true."

A few students quickly turned to Bernie with knowing looks, and a small girl near Charity glared at her accusingly and said, "He _knew_ you were going to say that."

By that time Bernie was already heading back to the entrance, whistling happily, so Charity decided to drop the matter and began the tour right where they were standing - in the familiar ancient Greek and Roman rooms.

"Who can tell me what a mausoleum is?" she asked the already suspicious students, who now seemed thrown into an absolute stupor at the mention of the word mausoleum. Charity pointed at one of the staring faces and said, "Why don't you take a stab at it young man." The boy flinched. '_Stab_' was probably not the best choice of words at the moment. "Er, please tell me your name sir," she said gently.

"F-F-F-" the poor boy stammered.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" The prim-looking teacher said impatiently. "Miss Burnham is not a witch and isn't going lock you up in a sarcophagus and save you for a snack later. The security man was only having a bit of fun with you. Isn't that right Miss Burnham?"

"Er, yes that's right. I-I promise not to eat you," Charity stammered. She could not believe that Bernie had told them she was a witch! If he only knew how close his little joke had come to the truth...

"Now let's pull ourselves together and answer Miss Burnham's questions," the teacher said crisply.

"F-Frederic. My name is Frederic," the boy said bravely to the witch.

"Oh, I'll remember that name - my parents' owl is named Frederic," Charity answered brightly.

"Owl?" asked one of the girls timidly.

Since she was desperate to appear as un-witch-like as possible, Charity reflected that this probably wasn't the best time to tell these Muggle children about messenger owls. "Erm, yes, a pet," she answered quickly.

A young man shot his hand into the air and began speaking before being called on. "I'm not sure that it's legal in this country to hold a wild animal like an owl captive. They're not meant to be domesticated and you could harm the natural balance--"

Charity was beginning to prefer the petrified and speechless students of only moments ago. "Absolutely correct. Frederic is a free-range owl. Free to come and go as he pleases," she answered somewhat truthfully. She needed to redirect the students' attention so she led them briskly through several rooms before landing at an exhibit on castles.

"We are very lucky to have a large concentration of historic castles located right here in England," Charity told them and began listing off some of the closer ones.

The environmentalist, who appeared to be a self proclaimed expert on pretty much everything, superfluously raised his hand and told anyone who was listening, "Windsor castle is the largest of all those in England and is currently home to…" He continued spewing facts until Charity finally cut in.

"Thank you Ernie, er, I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Fletcher Hensen of the Sussex Hensens," he said importantly.

"Right. Does anyone _else_ have any questions?" Charity asked.

A girl shyly raised her hand. Charity extracted her name as being Helen, and then Helen asked, "Do any of the castles in England have camouflage towers?

"Pardon?" Charity asked with genuine interest. She had no idea what the girl was talking about, but the idea intrigued her for some reason.

"Camouflaged towers," repeated Helen quietly, looking around at the girl next to her for support.

"Oh yeah," said her friend. "We read in a book once about a tower in an old castle, and the queen and her mates painted a tower so it would look like the sky and no one would know it was there."

"Really?" Charity asked. "Do you know if this was a true book or a made up story?"

"She means fiction or non-fiction," Fletcher added snootily.

The girl thought a moment and said, "I dunno. Some of both maybe? But the queen and her mates had load of secret meetings and tea parties in the tower and made important discoveries that saved the kingdom."

"Really?" Charity murmured as tiny prickles slowly cascaded up her arms. Secret meetings, tea parties, and hidden towers…

Charity was careful as she asked, "Do you remember what the book was called or who wrote it?"

Both girls looked at each other, seemingly trying to remember, but turned back to Charity, shaking their heads sadly. Charity wanted so much to push them to think harder, but a stern look from the prim teacher told her to move on. She hoped to catch the girls on the way out, but the efficient teacher whisked her students off before Charity had the chance.

In the days following the field trip, Charity became agitated by the idea of a camouflaged tower at Hogwarts. It wasn't long before she was convinced that the girls from the tea painting had in fact met - and were possibly somehow still meeting - in such a tower. These thoughts carried on for days, until Charity remembered Filch laughing at her when she'd tried to open a tower that he'd said had been blasted off hundreds of years ago. Could _that_ be the very one? Charity's impatience to find out became yet another reason for her to ache for her return to the magical world.

*****

What Charity had expected to be weeks stretched into months, and there was still no word from Snape. She was growing restless. She couldn't think of any more topics for her articles, and had once again become consumed with feelings of helplessness while the wizarding world continued its war. She decided it was time for a change of scenery. Paris seemed to be the perfect escape as it was only a quick two-and-a-half hour Chunnel train ride away, so Charity boarded the Paris-bound Eurostar on her next day off of work.

The Chunnel was a true marvel of the Muggle world. It was called the Chunnel because it transported its passengers via a long tunnel that actually ran _under_ the English Channel. The train zoomed through the English countryside, and Charity looked out the window to see a blur of green flecked with white flashes that she could only assume were sheep. She wondered if Mr. Weasley had ever ridden one of these high-speed trains. She smiled thinking how excited he would be if he were here right now.

Paris was brilliant. Even with a healthy cloud cover, it was somehow brighter than London on this mild, spring day. Charity spent her first couple of hours simply walking the streets of the left bank. She got herself a chocolate croissant and an espresso and sat at an outdoor café with a view of La Tour Eiffel and watched the Muggles waiting in line to go up its elevators. She figured she'd skip the observation tower herself since the view from the Eiffel Tower would not include the Eiffel Tower. Even with all of Paris' other attractions, Charity ranked this architectural gem at the top of her list as yet another testament to Muggle genius, and she was content to just sit and gaze at it for a long while.

After finishing her croissant, she made her way across the city and climbed the hill to Monte Martre. She strolled the streets, watching the artists work and breathing in the Parisian air. She hadn't been to Paris since she was a teenager, but she remembered that somewhere at the top of this hill there was an entrance to a wizard shopping square similar to Diagon Alley - Carré Magique. Through a book store she thought. She knew she'd probably never be able to find it and that the irksome vow would prevent her from entering the square, but she wandered into every book store anyhow, just trying to catch a glimpse.

From what she remembered, stepping into Carré Magique was like stepping into a Toulouse Lautrec painting - vivid colors and movement everywhere. Wizard artists strolled the streets, spraying various colored paints out of their wands onto canvases. Once complete, the canvases floated away and accosted pedestrians in an attempt to sell themselves. The implication was that the assault would end once you gave the artist money. With all of the flying paint and wet canvases, robes and gowns often became stained in the Carré Magique. This was not a problem, because waiting at the exit with a tip jar was a Nettoyer Sorcière – a witch who would suck paint off of your garments with her wand. The cleaning witch was vital in keeping the Muggles unaware of the magical world beyond the book store.

Charity walked up to a small shop with many English titles. She was pretty sure this wasn't the right shop, but there were several second hand books on carts just out front, and she thought it would be a good idea to pick up something to read on the train ride back to London. An old dusty book caught her eye; it was titled _The Wand_. She pulled it from the cart and was shocked to see that the author's name was B. Bagshot. Charity knew of a witch called Bathilda Bagshot who wrote all those magical history books that she'd had to read at Preppy. Could this be the same person? How many published authors by the name of B. Bagshot could there be? Maybe this was actually a magical book that had found its way here by accident!

Charity felt a tingle of excitement as she went to the counter and purchased the book. She left the store and immediately ducked around a corner into a deserted side street to examine it. Her heart beat wildly at the prospect of what she might find. She rapidly flipped through the pages but was disappointed when the book turned out to be wholly unremarkable. It was nothing but yellowing paper with words and a few black and white drawings, typical Muggle book. Charity signed and threw the book into her purse. At least it would be something to read on the train.

She finally walked into a shabby bookstore that she was sure was the right place. Its unkempt appearance and unidentifiable odor were not likely to attract many Muggles. From memory, she walked to a vaguely familiar corner at the back of the store that was obscured from general view by high bookshelves. Looking up, she spied a particularly thick volume titled _Un Bouquin Ennuyeux_. This book was conspicuously dust-free, unlike its neighbors, which looked as if they hadn't been touched in at least a century. Charity knew that if she removed _Un Bouquin Enneyeux_ from the shelf, the entire case would swing open, allowing entrance to the magical square.

As she stood on this threshold, she was forcibly reminded that the situation on the other side of that shelf may not be as joyful as it once was. Had France already fallen victim to the dark forces that had enslaved England? Even if what's-his-face hadn't already infected the place, it was likely that some of his Death Eaters were at least in there, canvassing the square for support. Charity decided she'd better get out of the store before another witch or wizard came along and discovered her.

Outside a cold, gray drizzle was coming down to match Charity's new mood. Paris suddenly wasn't so bright. She ducked into a novelty shop and bought a cheap umbrella while the outdoor artists scrambled to cover their work and protect it from the rain. She walked in front of the domed church of Sacre Coeur and looked down the hill at Paris spread out before her. Maybe this wasn't such a bad place to be a Muggle after all.

Just as Charity's spirits started to lift, a sudden gust of wind burst upon her, and her new umbrella nearly flew out of her grip. She held on with both hands, only to have it mangled into uselessness by the wind. The rain drops swelled to the size of eggs. Charity struggled to correct her umbrella but was badly losing the battle. Out of nowhere, a dark figure swooped toward her. The figure gave her umbrella one swift jerk, and it was righted. She looked up to say, 'thank you,' but was struck dumb the moment she beheld the strikingly handsome man standing in front of her. The gorgeous contrast of his flawless, pale complexion with his jet black eyes was only outdone by his perfectly chiseled features. His long, black hair was pulled neatly into a pony tail, and he was very tall in his billowing, black cloak.

Charity found her voice and said flirtatiously, "Merci, kind stranger."

He returned her warm smile, and the winds died down as suddenly as they had come. The rain slowed to only a slight drizzle.

"Not at all, mademoiselle," he said. He was not French. Charity couldn't quite place his accent, but it sounded eastern European. "I vonder now if you can help me. I must to change this," he said, holding out a foreign currency.

"Oh, you need a currency exchange. Let's see," Charity said as she pulled out her Paris guidebook and located a currency exchange near the bottom of the hill. She offered to walk him there, and he accepted.

After he was all set with his French currency, he turned to her and said, "Thank you, kind stranger. I think it is time we are no longer strangers, no?" Then he held out his hand and said, "Bonjour, I am Alin."

Charity took his hand and said, "Bonjour, I am Charity." She wasn't sure why she'd automatically given her real name instead of the Muggle name she'd been using for so many months. She hoped it would be okay since she was in a foreign country. At least the vow hadn't kicked in.

Instead of shaking her hand as Charity had expected, Alin turned it and brought it to his lips. Charity blushed. She was going to have to be careful with this one.

"You are expert on Paris," he stated.

"No, not an expert," she blushed again. "I just enjoy visiting different cities and finding my way around."

"Vell, I come to Paris to see Monet. Can you help me find him?"

"It's not too difficult to find Monet in Paris. You actually don't even need to look. But if you _really_ want to see him, it has to be Musée L 'Orangerie."

Alin tilted his head in an irresistible look and said, "You vill take me there?"

Then he bent his elbow out, and without thinking about it, Charity slipped her arm inside his and said, "Sure."

They had a wonderful time at the museum. Alin turned out to be quite knowledgeable about art and told her many interesting stories about what life was like during the Impressionist era. His detailed knowledge of the time period was surprising for someone of his age; Charity judged him to be only a few years older than her at the most.

As they made their way out of the building, he told her of a little known restaurant in the Latin Quarter that one of his friends had insisted he visit while in Paris. He told Charity he would like to treat her to dinner there for being his tour guide. Charity didn't consider turning Alin's offer down; however, she was beginning to think it might be necessary to make it clear that this would _not_ be a romantic dinner. Then again, it wasn't as if he'd indicated that this was anything more than just a friendly day together. Just because he was devastatingly handsome and always said just the right thing didn't mean that his intentions were anything other than platonic.

As they walked toward the restaurant and crossed the bridge onto Île de la Cité, Charity remembered something she wanted to do here.

"I need to stop in at Notre Dame," she told Alin. "Do you mind if we cut down this street?"

A fierce snarl seemed to curl Alin's lip for a brief second at the mention of Notre Dame, but his mouth quickly softened into a smile. He gave Charity a most appealing look and told her, "I'm sure vatever you haff to do there can vait until after dinner. I grow quite hungry." Charity believed he was indeed quite hungry from the flash in his eyes as he said this, but she wouldn't be dissuaded. This was important.

"No, it really can't. I promise it will only take a moment. If you'd rather go on ahead without me, that would be fine, really." For some reason she was beginning to feel that maybe it would be better if he did go on without her.

"No, my dear, of course ve can make a brief stop," he said compliantly, and they turned toward Notre Dame. Alin stopped at the street corner adjacent to the church and told Charity he would wait for her there. "Don't be long," he requested as she walked away from him.

Once inside, she set her mind on what she came here for – to light a candle in prayer for an imminent and positive end to the struggles with Voldemort. She cleared her mind of all else as she knelt by the candles and prayed. On her way out she saw a table with tiny bottles of holy water for a small donation. '_Couldn't hurt,_' she thought, leaving a few francs and grabbing a bottle before reuniting with Alin, who was waiting in the exact spot where she'd left him.

They left the Île de la Cité and crossed into the narrow streets of the Latin Quarter just as dusk was setting in. The streets were busy, and they passed several doorways through which they heard the happy buzz of early diners.

The restaurant Alin was taking her to turned out to be not so much _in_ the Latin Quarter as just beyond it. They continued into less populous streets before Alin indicated that they were nearing their destination. "I don't know exact address, but ve are close," he said as he peered down darkening alleys to see if they were "just right," as he put it.

As they made their way along the street, a dress in a shop window caught Charity's eye. She'd spent an entire day in the fashion capital of the world and had not set foot in a dress boutique. She thought maybe a little window shopping would make up for it.

"Yes, you vould look very pretty in that," Alin told her from over her shoulder. His over-solicitousness, which Charity had found oh-so-charming earlier in the day, was starting to wear thin. She gave no response but continued staring silently into the window. All the walking had tired her out, and she longed for a little solitude. The street lamps had just ignited and cast her reflection more prominently on the window. She didn't see Alin in the reflection. Maybe she was getting her wish. She turned to see where he'd gone and bumped right into him. He'd been standing behind her the whole time……but there'd been no reflection in the window.

Charity's blood froze solid and she choked back a gasp. Any trace of fatigue vanished with the realization that Alin was a vampire! How had she not seen it before? The accent, the charming demeanor. His bicuspids hadn't seemed unusually large, but that was just a Muggle myth, wasn't it? Real vampires' teeth didn't need to be long, just very, very sharp. Besides, they had their ways of softening up the skin before they bit. Charity looked into Alin's dark, handsome eyes and thought for the briefest second that maybe his mouth on her neck wouldn't be the _worst_ thing in the world...

'_No!_' she told herself. He was using his vampire mind tricks on her. '_He thinks I'm a Muggle with no way to defend myself,_' she thought. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she realized that instead she was a witch with no way to defend herself. She reached her hand into her coat pocket and clutched the bezoar. If she took this now, would it protect her from the vampire venom? Did vampires even have venom technically or was it something else that would be impervious to the effects of the bezoar? Oh, how she wished she had ever read Voyages with Vampires!

Alin, meanwhile, had thrown off all pretence and was now openly leering at her. Charity's frantic hand suddenly clasped on to something else in her pocket – the tiny vial of Holy Water. This could just be more Muggle myth, but she was quickly running out of options. She flicked the lid off the vile with her thumb and tossed the water into Alin's face. He screeched in pain and jumped back with his hands to his head. Through his fingers, Charity could see huge, blistery welts swelling on his beautiful face.

Charity made a run for it and headed toward the crowded streets near Place St. Michele. Absorbed in the crowd, she looked back and saw no sign of Alin, although she thought she heard faint screeching coming from the alley where she'd left him. For good measure, she ducked into a Greek restaurant and picked up a garlicky tzatsiki dip to carry with her. She rushed back to the station and was able to catch an earlier train back to London. She didn't even begin to relax until the train pulled away. She scanned the passengers in the well-lit compartment and judged them to be perfectly normal Muggles with no designs whatsoever on her blood. Only then was she able to eat some of the pita and tzatsiki and slow her thumping heart. She soon fell into an exhausted sleep.

She dreamt about Snape. She was with him in Paris doing all the things she had done throughout that day. They moved along in a silent mist. There were no other people around and they didn't speak at all, but somehow she knew exactly what he was thinking. She felt happy with him, happier than she had without him. They didn't even think about stepping foot in Carré Magique. He held her hand and they simply strolled the city, looking at the sights and looking at each other. At the end of the dream, Snape led her down a dark alley. He brushed her golden waves away from her neck and leaned in toward her. She felt the exquisite pain of teeth sinking into her neck and woke with a jolt into the blaring lights of the train compartment.

She wiped a glob of drool from her chin and reflected that this wasn't the first time she'd associated Snape with a vampire. It was difficult not to with his sun-deprived skin, long dark hair, and bat-like presence. Judging by his general lack of grooming, he didn't appear to make much use of mirrors either. Nevertheless, he lacked one very important quality - a quality that Alin had been positively dripping with - that convinced Charity that Snape was not a vampire. That quality was charm. Charity felt certain that nobody had ever accused Severus Snape of being the least bit charming.

She settled back in her seat and spent the rest of the train ride thinking good thoughts about Snape. She missed him.


	23. Respite

Chapter 23

Respite

At last Charity stood before the door to her tiny, little flat, still a bit weary from her fresh adventures in Paris. As eager as she had been to escape Doughty Street that morning, it felt good to be back. She turned the key in the lock and stepped in to the comfort of her temporary home only to receive another shock.

Standing by her window was none other than Severus Snape! He turned abruptly toward the sound of her entrance. Every sharp feature on his face was alive with anxiety.

"Where have you been?" he demanded with obvious concern.

"I took the Chunnel to Paris," Charity answered somewhat absently. She was still trying to absorb the fact that he'd stepped out of her dream and into her flat.

"Paris, France?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," she answered in a small voice, cowering a bit under his suddenly furious glare.

"Do you have any idea the measures I've taken to secure your safety in the Muggle world?" Snape practically spat.

"Well...I…"

"Surely you realize that I can't possibly follow you from country to country, putting a charm on every place you choose to visit! Have I completely wasted my time protecting you when you choose to deliberately plunge yourself into who knows what danger?"

Charity became suddenly incensed. How dare he march in here and tell her where she could and couldn't go while he was free to apparate in and out as he pleased! She screwed her mouth up to tell Snape off, but stopped herself. With a tremendous effort, she kept these thoughts to herself and tried to consider his perspective. She supposed that taking off to a foreign city had been a rather careless move, especially considering what had nearly happened to her. She couldn't entirely blame him for being angry with her.

She decided to save the vampire story for another time (like _never_) and after inhaling a deep, calming breath, she told him sincerely, "I'm sorry."

Snape's eyes still flashed, but the apology had apparently caught him off guard, and he didn't say anything.

"Well, did you just 'pop' in to yell at me or - wait a minute - is it over? Can I come home?" Charity asked excitedly.

"No," Snape answered firmly as he turned away and took an angry step toward her little table. He grasped onto the back of one of her spindle-backed chairs so roughly that Charity worried he might snap it in two. She could see that his anger was no longer directed at her, but in some direction that seemed to frustrate him even more.

"That infernal boy is taking longer than expected," Snape snarled. "It appears he's waiting for someone to come and simply do the job for him."

"What boy?" Charity asked.

"Potter," he answered bitterly as he slammed himself down into the chair. "Always Harry Potter."

"Well, why don't you do the job for him?" Charity asked with complete confidence that whatever the job was, Snape would surely be able to do it.

He shook his dark head and said, "I only wish I could." He examined Charity briefly and then dropped his eyes to the floor, as if making some sort of confession. "The problem is, I have no idea what he has to do." His eyes darted back and forth in thought as if trying to figure it out. Charity knew he was telling the truth. She could also see that this truth troubled him.

When she took a closer look at Snape, she saw new creases of worry lining his forehead and eyes. He was tired and dejected. "Oh Severus, is he, is what's-his-face, is he winning?"

"No," Snape answered, trying to force his voice into a more soothing tone. "I've merely become impatient."

Charity knew he was only trying to be more positive for her sake. She could see that the physical and mental strain of Snape's precarious position was taking a dreadful toll on him. As he sat hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, clenching his fingers into his long black hair, she stepped over to him and put her soft hands on his shoulders. She stood silently behind him, letting the warmth of her hands penetrate his taught shoulders.

When she felt his muscles slacken slightly under her touch, she said gently, "I wouldn't count Potter out. You have to admit, the boy has been quite resourceful."

The muscles in Snape's shoulders again went rigid as he responded bitingly, "That's where you're wrong – I don't _have_ to do anything."

His harsh response struck Charity dumb. Her instinct was to snap right back at him, but she again restrained herself. She knew he didn't mean to be so nasty to her, but who else did he have to vent his tumult of aggravations to? The Potter kid had never been Snape's favorite, he'd actually always seemed to rather detest him, and Charity realized how frustrating it must be for Snape to have to depend on Potter for anything, much less the fate of the wizarding world. She wasn't going to be able to soothe him on that point, so she stayed quiet, smoothly running her hands over his shoulders, trying to bring him some comfort that way.

After a few moments of reflective silence, Charity said, "Severus, I'm not complaining, but…why _are_ you here?"

He dropped his hands and turned to look up at her, with his black eyes opened wide. His anger temporarily slipped away and left him with a somewhat helpless looking expression. Charity looked questioningly at him, and he fumbled with the words that were always so difficult for him when he wasn't trying to slice someone up with them. "I…you…" he stammered.

Just like in her dream, Charity knew what he was saying without the words. Her pink lips spread into a warm smile and she stepped back from the chair. "Stop," she said simply and held her arms spread wide for him.

Snape practically leapt from the chair and came to her. The lines of his face softened and Charity knew all thoughts but one were pushed from his mind. He scooped her up into his arms, and what they did for the next hour didn't require any talking. Without words, Snape told Charity how much he needed someone to hold him, to trust him, to love him, and she told him how much she needed to be that someone.

They often broke apart just to look at each other, and at one point Snape smiled. He smiled. It was truly a night for miracles, and Charity couldn't stop smiling. For as long as they held each other, they knew that nothing else mattered.

*****

Later that evening, Charity lay quietly with her head on Snape's chest. She felt the rise and fall of his slow and steady breathing and listened to the gentle patter of rain drops on her window pane. She looked up into his face. It seemed to her that an enormous strain had been washed from his features. She put her head back down, and they continued to lay silently while she ran her hand over his, examining his long, skilled fingers. These were the very same hands that had rescued her from Voldemort's curse and carried her away from his murderous pet snake. She chose not to think about the terrible things these hands may have done while Snape was still loyal to Voldemort.

"Severus, thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He responded with a soft kiss to the top of her head as she thought back to the night Snape had saved her.

"I don't see how you can spend so much time with _him_ in such close contact," Charity said with a slight shiver. "He's just so…awful."

Snape pulled her more tightly to him but still didn't say anything.

Charity suddenly lifted her head and blurted, "Don't go back to him!"

Snape furrowed his brow at her, so she sat up, continuing persuasively, "I mean it. Stay and hide with me. You said yourself that Potter has to be the one to end this. You'll just stay with me until he's ended it!" She looked at Snape with excited hope.

Snape's expression was a mixture of shock and pain. He too sat up and moved away from her saying, "This is exactly what Dumbledore warned me against." Dumbledore? Snape seemed to choose his next words very carefully as he said, "I haven't completed my mission. There's still one very important task ahead of me." With emotion written on his every feature, Snape turned to look at Charity and explained, "I've already lost so much. I can't let it be for nothing."

"Okay," she said simply and wrapped herself around his back. She understood, or at least she thought she did. As much as she wanted him to stay, she knew that he wouldn't be the man she was growing to care so much about if he turned his back on his responsibilities.

She kissed the back of his shoulder and rested her chin there. "It'd be kind of nice, though, if we could both just be Muggles, wouldn't it?" she said wistfully. "You could be a professor at the University. I'm sure the Muggle students would despise you every bit as much as those at Hogwarts," she teased. "And we could live in a big house in Notting Hill…"

He'd turned his face to look at her, and she blushed and said, "I know I'm being silly--"

"I think it sounds wonderful," his deep voice murmured in earnest. "I don't think I'd make a very good Muggle, though."

"No doubt you'd make a perfectly _terrible_ Muggle," Charity smiled.

They sat looking at each other with a new understanding between them -- when this was all over, they would be together. Charity was filled with a comfort and security that she hadn't felt in a long time, or maybe even never before. She leaned in and gave Snape a long, lingering kiss then whispered, "I wish you would sleep. You look so tired."

"I am," he said and leaned back with his eyes closed.

"Good then, you sleep, and I'll fix something for you to eat when you get up." With a final kiss on each of his closed eyelids, Charity went to her tiny kitchen. She couldn't imagine that she could ever feel any happier than she did right at that moment. As she hummed quietly and worked at the stove, she saw Snape stir in her peripheral vision. She turned and saw that he was sitting up, grasping onto the forearm that carried the Dark Mark. His face was taught with concern once again.

He stood up and announced, "I must go. Immediately."

Charity felt as if the floor had fallen out beneath her, but she held herself steady. She wouldn't try to stop him from leaving. She dropped her work in the kitchen and walked immediately to him, taking both his hands in hers. She fought to keep her voice steady when she spoke.

"It doesn't matter where you go, because you're here," she said, pressing one of his hands to her heart. "And you're _always_ on my mind, so you're never alone. I'm always with you."

A silent tear escaped her, and it seemed to nearly kill Snape to watch it run down her face. After a slight pause, Charity added in a choked whisper, "I adore you Severus."

He answered her by first kissing away the tear on her cheek and then pressing his salty lips fervently to her mouth before stepping back and disappearing with a 'pop.' Charity stood and stared out her black, rain streaked window for a long time after he'd gone, ignoring Bnickel as he clambered softly for her attention. She wore a tender smile as she thought about Snape and all that had happened between them.


	24. Wizards

Chapter 24

Wizards

Charity did not want to take a chance on missing Snape again, so she mostly stayed put in her flat for the next few weeks. She only left to go to work at the museum and pick up groceries. She hadn't realized how busy she'd been keeping herself until she suddenly had nothing to do. She knew she should use the time to work more on her research papers, but her mind was filled with Snape, and she could focus on little else. She was more anxious than ever for an end to the struggles in the wizarding world so that Snape could spend less time in what's-his-face's company and more in hers.

One afternoon as she was dusting her shelves, she came across the Bagshot book she had bought in Paris. She threw it on her bed to look at later. When she'd finished cleaning and made herself a steaming cup of tea, she sank into her upholstered chair and opened the book. Her intention was only to skim through, but the further she ventured into the story, the more absorbed she became. The beginning felt vaguely familiar to Charity; it reminded her of a bedtime story her mother used to tell her but with a violent and dark twist. This was definitely not a story you'd read to small children. It was about a wand that had been made by Death itself. Death had made the wand unbeatable. Needless to say, the Unbeatable Wand became a very hot commodity among wizards, and the story followed the Wand through its various masters through the centuries.

Although the Wand itself was unbeatable, there were ways of winning it away from its master. The rules of ownership were very complex and not fully understood by everyone. The most basic explanation was that one would win the Unbeatable Wand by overpowering the current master. Overpowering could be as simple as disarming, but for several decades a harsher definition of overpowering prevailed, and much blood was shed in quest of the Unbeatable Wand. Although bragging rights have always carried a high value in the wizarding world, after this reign of death, it became more appealing for the master to hide the Wand's true nature. As a result, knowledge of the Unbeatable Wand gradually declined, so that it came to be generally considered as nothing more than a myth.

Occasionally, a wizard or witch would become the true master of the Wand without even realizing it. Their ownership status would come and go and they'd never even known what they'd had. To add a further layer to the already complex rules of ownership, actual possession of the Unbeatable Wand was _not_ a requirement of ownership. In fact, the true master sometimes never had possession of the wand at all. Such was the case with Mackey Devlin. He had merely wanted just one more pint, and when the bar man refused to serve him, Mackey pulled out his wand to stun him. The barman was ready, but Mackey's unsteady aim sent the curse ricocheting off the mirror behind the bar and hit a quiet man who'd been sitting three stools down from Mackey. Unknown to anyone sitting in the pub that night, that quiet man just happened to be the current master of the Wand. The moment he fell off his stool, the Wand's loyalty transferred to Mackey.

The quiet man eventually regained consciousness and retained the Wand, but it never showed him any remarkable power again, and he never quite understood why. On his deathbed he confided to anyone who would listen that his Wand had once been the Unbeatable Wand of legend. Most thought it was just delusional babble, but his nephew, who was a very bright and ambitious boy, put the pieces together and promised his uncle that if he gave him the Wand, he would restore it to power for the family once again. The uncle complied, and after his death, the boy met with poor Mackey one night in a dark alley. The boy walked out of the alley as master of the Unbeatable Wand. More importantly, he held both the Wand _and_ full knowledge of its power. No one in the village ever understood why anyone would mount such a vicious attack on a typically harmless old drunk like Mackey.

The story itself lost track of true ownership and ended with the Wand in limbo. Very few wizards actually believed in the Unbeatable Wand's existence, and those that did found it nearly impossible to trace the transfer of ownership. Bagshot's book left the reader thinking that the Wand's master could be one of five wizards, depending on which path of ownership the Wand followed. Charity was shocked to read that Albus Dumbledore was one of those possibilities. Obviously the wand hadn't followed that path, or he wouldn't be dead, would he?

Charity was completely caught up in the story through the very last page and wished it would have continued to a definitive end. Although this was a fictional work, Bagshot had obviously drawn on her expert knowledge of wizard history in writing it. By the time Charity finished the book, she herself half believed that the Unbeatable Wand actually existed.

Days later, still pondering the book, Charity realized that if she could be persuaded through a well told story that something like the Unbeatable Wand existed, then maybe books such as The Wand would be a good way to introduce Muggles to the magical world. At a minimum, it would open their minds to the possibility and pave the way for the future. She wondered if this was perhaps Bagshot's intention in writing the book. The idea struck Charity as brilliant, and she wondered if Bagshot had written or was writing other such books. Perhaps _she_ was the author of the book about the camouflaged tower that those Muggle students had read. Charity's heart began to beat wildly at the prospects. She would definitely make it a point to get in touch with Bathilda Bagshot as soon as she returned to the magical world.

*********

Charity awoke on her birthday to find a small, awkwardly wrapped package on her bedside table. On it was scribbled:

_C-_

_Happy Birthday._

_Yours,_

_-S_

Hers. She liked that. Very much. Smiling, she opened the package and found an old, ornately carved silver picture frame. There was no picture in it. It was tarnished, but she could tell that it had once been beautiful and decided that her first order of business would be to find out how Muggles polished their silver. When she turned the frame over, examining it, she noticed that there was an inscription on the back:

_To my darling Amalga, from your Prince_

"Hmm," she told Bnickel. "Slightly arrogant for someone to refer to himself as 'prince,' but the 'darling' was nice." She wondered if Snape had picked the frame up from one of the local antique shops or if it was just some old thing he'd had laying around for ages. It was rather a funny type of gift, an empty tarnished picture frame. It didn't matter to Charity, though, because the note was enough to make anything that came with it an absolute treasure. She wished Snape had stayed along with the gift and sighed deeply for most of the rest of that day.

*****

During this time, Charity often repeated the dream of her and Snape in Paris while she slept. It always ended in a dark alley, but lately the scene wasn't nearly as frightening as it had been when she'd first had the dream on the train. A few nights after her birthday, Charity found herself once again strolling Parisian streets with Snape. This time when they emerged from the alley, it was Snape who had huge bloody fang marks ripped into his neck. He was gushing blood and fell to his knees as soon as they hit the street.

Charity awoke abruptly, covered in sweat. Her heart pounded thunderously in her chest as she tried to figure out how her dream had taken this twist. At last she assured herself that it was only a dream and tried to get out of bed to get a glass of water. As she swung her legs around to the floor, she became very dizzy and had to lie back down. Her equilibrium was off. Something more than a nightmare had happened while she'd slept; she felt completely different. Even after her balance restabilized the next morning, she felt physically different. Not ill, it was more like something had been lifted from her - she felt lighter. She wondered if she should think about consulting a Muggle physician. Maybe she'd ask Bernie to recommend a good doctor when she got into work.

As she approached the museum that day, she noticed an owl perched on the Museum roof. Owls didn't often appear in the city, and she remarked on her sighting to several colleagues. She was feeling much better and so decided not to ask Bernie about doctors. She didn't want to take a chance on a Muggle doctor detecting any magical blood.

When she left the museum at the end of the day, she looked up to see if the owl was still there. Not only was he still there, but two friends had joined him. Were they building a nest? As she made her way back home, another owl practically knocked her flat, and she could swear she saw something small tied to his leg as he whooshed by her.

Several pedestrians around her were excitedly talking and laughing about the rogue owl. Charity's senses were peeked, and she noticed two caped bystanders in the crowd whispering excitedly to each other. They didn't seem phased by the owl at all. She moved closer to listen in on their conversation and could make out a few hushed and hurried words.

"_Potter had it in him the whole time…battle at Hogwarts…unbeatable wand…_"

That was all Charity needed to hear to understand that something had happened. Something big. She nearly approached the wizard and witch on the street, but thought better of it when she looked at all of the Muggles on the sidewalk. Instead, she rushed back to her flat, certain that Snape would either be there or arriving soon. She entered an empty flat, save for Bnickel who pranced about excitedly at her entrance.

"Any word, Bnick?" she asked rhetorically. She set down her bag and made a job of pacing the small room. About every fifteen seconds she would walk to the window and look out, as if expecting to see Snape flying through the London sky. After waiting months and months for this very moment, her patience was scraped to the bone. Where was he? She supposed that someone who had played such an important role in the war would probably have a long list of loose ends to tie up. She could understand if she was one of those loose ends at the bottom of the list.

Three or ten more circuits around the flat brought Charity to a disturbing thought – what if nobody else understood that Snape had been working on the good side? What if everyone thought he was a true Death Eater, and they were taking him to Azkaban right now? She couldn't let that happen. Vow or not, Charity grabbed her bag and set out for the one place that she knew would be buzzing with all of the information she needed to know – the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was packed with people, all of them discussing recent events at the top of their voices so that Charity couldn't make out a single clear word. She pushed her way through the solid wall of capes and cloaks, searching for a familiar face. It was slow going for Charity, because she was much shorter than most in the crowd.

As she stood on her tip-toes, trying to look around, someone from a nearby table caught her eye and called out, "Burbage? Burbage!" He got up and shoved his way through the crowd to her, "You're Ralph Burbage's girl, aren't ya?"

Charity was struck dumb by the lump that had risen to her throat at the mention of her father. She nodded to the man in the affirmative. She was no longer thinking of the vow. If she had been, she would have wondered why she wasn't already dead.

The man pulled Charity into a giant bear hug and said, "Thank God you're alive. Your old man's been keepin' his chin up, but I know he's been terrible worried about ya."

Charity now let tears of relief come. That hug was her official welcome back to the magical world. The man squeezed her tightly as he felt her shoulders shake. He kept one firm arm around her as he turned and said, "Tom! Tom! Look who we've got here – a survivor – the Burbage girl!"

Several faces turned toward them as the man pulled Charity with him to the bar.

Tom, the barman, said, "Oh, you're a sight for very sore eyes," and smiled at Charity through cracked and bleeding lips. He had a large bruise above his eye and several deep scars that Charity hadn't ever noticed before. Tom knew many people, and therefore, had probably been privy to loads of information that the Death Eaters would have wanted. These last couple of years could not have been easy for him. He quickly filled a glass for Charity and handed it to her, saying, "Cheers to Charity Burbage!"

The small crowd around her cheered, and then returned to their own excited conversations. After her tears had subsided and she'd taken a sip of her drink, Charity looked at Tom and her father's friend with wide eyes and told them, "I've been in hiding. I don't know anything."

Between the two men, they explained to her that Voldemort's reign of terror ended the previous night at what was now being called the Battle of Hogwarts. Death Eaters and all manner of magical creatures that had been lured to their side had converged at Hogwarts to battle members of the Order of the Phoenix and several brave students. There was a high death toll on both sides, but in the end Harry Potter faced his nemesis, Lord Voldemort, and beat him once again. This time, unlike the first when Voldemort's powers had merely been diminished, the Dark Lord was most sincerely dead.

"How did he do it?" Charity asked in wonder.

"The Wand – the Wand of Legend," answered Tom.

"The Unbeatable Wand?" Charity gasped.

"That's right," said Mr. Burbage's friend, "You've heard of it?"

"Only recently. So it's real?"

"Yup, at least that's what anyone who witnessed the fight says. Apparently Potter figured it all out and somehow turned the wand against V-V-Voldemort."

As Charity absorbed this incomprehensible news, her concern suddenly turned to Snape. She wanted to make sure he wasn't headed for Azkaban. "Snape?" she asked urgently. "What of Severus Snape?"

Tom and her father's friend looked at each other then back at Charity and said in unison, "He's dead."

She thought she'd heard wrong and said in a shaky voice, "No, I mean, where is he?"

Her father's friend shrugged and said, "Body's been moved to Hogwarts I suppose…"

Body……Snape was dead……really and truly dead? Charity looked desperately from face to face to find someone in the crowd around her who would refute what she'd just been told. All she saw were solemn looks of confirmation.

A voice inside her head began endlessly screaming, 'NOOOOO!'

Even though she'd understood that Snape put himself in terrible danger every day, she had never considered that he'd ever actually be killed. She'd thought he was invincible. The scene in front of Charity became two dimensional and flat. She couldn't comprehend that she would never see Snape again. Never touch him again. As this truth sank in, Charity became very warm and the hot skin on her face began to prickle. The bar and people surrounding her swirled in a blur, and the next thing she sensed was the smell of mildew and stale beer very close to her. She opened her eyes to find that she was lying on the cold, stone floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom was dabbing her face with a foul, damp bar rag.

After awakening, Charity found herself in the same protective fog she'd been surrounded by almost a year earlier at Dumbledore's funeral. She was aware of everything going on around her but was somehow numb to all of it. While she was being revived on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron, her father's friend had sent an owl, and her father had appeared in the Cauldron's fireplace within minutes. Once he was sure that Charity was steady on her feet, he immediately brought her home to her overjoyed mother. Both Mr. and Mrs. Burbage became understandably and blessedly overprotective of their daughter and kept her sheltered from the flurry of reporters and will-wishers that descended onto Highbury Street soon after Charity's reappearance.

When Charity felt up to facing the facts, she asked her father for details about how Snape had died, and he told her all that he knew. Voldemort had killed Snape, or more precisely, had had his snake do it. The very same snake from which Snape had saved Charity.

Charity was worried that Snape's murder had been revenge for his betrayal in rescuing her, but Mr. Burbage explained that it reportedly had something to do with the Unbeatable Wand. By Voldemort's estimation, Snape was the master of the Wand, so he sought to claim the Wand for himself by overpowering Snape in the most brutal fashion. As was obvious now, Snape never had been master of the Wand, somehow Harry Potter was, so the murder of Severus Snape was completely pointless. While Charity's heart ripped and bled, she thought ironically that this would have made a very exciting chapter in Bagshot's book.

She also learned that during the past year, Snape had served as Headmaster at Hogwarts. Try as she might, Charity couldn't quite picture him in this position.

She hadn't revealed many details to her parents about her relationship with Snape yet. She, of course, had explained how he had saved her life and about the mission to save the Muggle Prime Minister. She had also told them that Snape had been the one to send them the letter assuring them that their daughter was safe. It was very important to her that her mum and dad understand Snape's true character. She should have realized that saving their baby girl was enough to cement him in their good favor forever.

.

.

.

.

.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This is _still_ not the end. Charity has a great deal more to learn about Severus Snape, so this story has a total of 28 chapters. (Since I don't want you to carry a false hope that Snape will somehow be saved with a magical bezoar or something, I want to assure you right now that Severus Snape is most sincerely dead. '_So how can there still be four more chapters?_' you ask. I answer, '_Read on_.')


	25. The Interview

Chapter 25

The Interview

Charity held onto her numbness like a thick cloak in a frigid windstorm while wizards and witches throughout Great Britain grieved. The list of the dead was long. It was especially long for Charity, because she was not only learning of all those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts but also about the many other deaths that had accumulated during her absence.

Some of Mr. Burbage's colleagues in the publishing industry had been either killed or tortured by Death Eaters as they moved in to control the media. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, had been killed soon after Charity went into hiding. The author Bathilda Bagshot had also been murdered some time ago. The most shocking news to Charity personally, however, was regarding her friend Melinda from Preppy. Melinda was one of the girls that Charity she was supposed to meet at Vincenzo's in Diagon Alley on that fateful day. Charity's friend had apparently turned informant to the Death Eaters for a short while before they decided she was no longer useful and violently disposed of her.

It was humanly impossible, even for wizards, to attend each individual funeral resulting from the latest battle; therefore, added to their already crippling emotional distress was the heart wrenching chore of picking and choosing which friends and heroes to officially mourn. The skeletal crew remaining at the Ministry of Magic (once those workers loyal to Voldemort had been either killed or sent to Azkaban) formed a Commission on Mourning and Burying the Dead to determine a way to help ease this burden. For once, a Ministry commission had a good idea and decided that after the individual funerals were completed, a service would be held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a memorial for all those who died in the final battle for freedom. Part of this ceremony would include the funeral of Severus Snape.

Speculation about Snape's loyalties and allegiances had already been raging throughout the wizarding world by the time Charity arrived back on the scene. Apparently Harry Potter had very recently uncovered some sort of confidential information revealing that Snape was in fact working for the Order of Phoenix all along. The trouble was that his undercover work had been so secretive that no currently living member of the Order could verify this fact. Potter was persistent, however, and after a few days of investigation, senior Hogwarts staff and high-ranking members of the Order came out in support of Potter's claims.

Enter Professor Charity Burbage and the case for Snape increased ten-fold. Her only public comments thus far had been that Snape had secretly rescued her from Voldemort's wrath and hidden her in Muggle London. She hadn't provided any further details as of yet, but that was enough to firmly turn the tide in Snape's favor. A matter of days earlier, everyone had believed Snape to be Voldemort's man, but now all sorts of wizards and witches were claiming that they had suspected all along that Snape was a double agent. He was suddenly man of the hour, a symbol of personal sacrifice for the greater good.

Because of her connection with the Weasley family, one of the funerals Charity attended was for Fred Weasley, Charlie's younger brother. He was one of the enterprising twins that had entertained Hogwarts for nearly seven years. It was a magnificent testament to family to see the five remaining Weasley brothers carrying their brother's coffin down the aisle, their red hair trailing like a long banner. Large as that group was, it was obvious someone was missing, especially judging by the lost look on poor George's face.

And dear Charlie. His warm smile and sparkly eyes were replaced by a somber expression of disbelief that this could actually be happening. Charity had heard that Charlie had managed to get all the way from Romania to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. She wasn't surprised to hear that he'd been a strong leader at that battle. She knew it must be killing him to know that he wasn't able to save his younger brother.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat in the front row, clinging to each other. Mrs. Weasley was very loud in her mourning, while Mr. Weasley remained a quiet bastion of strength for his wife. The pain etched in his face, however, showed that his grief was at least as great as hers. Ron's small sister, Ginny, sat next to her parents with her face buried in the arms of Harry Potter. Charity's eyes welled often during times like this, and the occasional tear escaped, but she was taking the new reality in doses. She didn't think she could stand to feel it all at the same time.

At the end of Fred's services, his twin, George, stood up and explained in a shaky voice that this seemed as good a time as any to introduce a new product to be launched at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the successful joke shop he and Fred had opened in Diagon Alley after they'd left school two years earlier. He was calling it Fred's Flyers, and it was the last of Fred's highly ingenious ideas.

George turned and said to his younger brother, "Ron, would you like a piece of gum?" and held out a pack of gum towards him.

Ron looked at George as though he thought he was going a bit soft and whispered kindly, "Uh, maybe later okay," then gestured with his eyes toward the guests as if to remind George that he was in the middle of a speech.

George looked disgusted with his brother and said more forcefully, "RON, would you _like_ a piece of gum?" Through clenched teeth he added, "Take it you git."

"Oooh," Ron said and slid a piece of gum from the pack and opened it. Ron began chewing and his mouth suddenly swelled. A bubble from the gum protruded from between his lips and grew to the size of a large balloon. The gum continued growing and began rising into the air.

Ron, enthralled with the balloon's progress, hadn't realized that he was rising into the air along with it until his mother screamed, "Ronald!"

Charlie and the oldest Weasley brother, Bill, grabbed him by the waistband and brought him down. Meanwhile, the balloon had broken free of Ron's mouth and continued its ascension. It drifted out over the group of mourners. As it centered itself over the crowd, it suddenly burst, and some sort of yellowish foam splattered over everyone. Custard cream by Charity's estimation. After an initial shocked silence, the crowd burst into applause and began laughing, crying, and hugging in the custard creamy mess. Charity felt sure that Fred was laughing louder than anyone.

The time for Charity to tell her story had come. After weeks of avoiding clamoring reporters, Charity's father had arranged for both she and Harry Potter to give an exclusive interview about Severus Snape to _Magical Minds Weekly_. As Charity's father had predicted, the magazine had gone on hiatus during the past year to avoid being overrun by Death Eaters, as had happened at the Daily Prophet. The Potter/Burbage interview would crown the magazine's re-debut issue, which was timed to hit the stands the week of Snape's funeral.

Since the interview was taking place at the magazine's offices in London, Charity and her mother chose that day to clean out her Muggle flat. The only thing Charity had taken home so far was Bnickel. Her mother was going to pack things up while Charity went to the interview and tied up a few other loose ends around town.

It had only been a few weeks since Charity had last set foot in what had been her home for nearly a year, but it felt like stepping into a distant memory. She made a beeline to the silver picture frame from Snape, which now framed his note. The gift was intensely personal, and Charity wasn't ready to share it with anyone. She inconspicuously grabbed the frame and dropped it into her purse, longing for a chance to stare at it in solitude. As an after thought, she also grabbed her copy of _The Wand_ on her way out.

"Okay, Mum, thanks a ton. I'll meet you back here in a few hours."

"Of course, dear," said her mother, giving Charity a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck on the interview!"

Charity's first stop was to the British Museum. She wanted to explain her absence and say good-bye to Bernie and Marta. She was going to tell them that a family emergency had suddenly come up, and as a result she was moving out to the countryside and leaving London.

Bernie greeted her warmly at the door with a hug as he shouted across the floor, "Marta look who's back from the dead!"

Charity looked at him somewhat suspiciously. Did he know more than he let on, she wondered, or was he just being Bernie? His goofy grin told her that he was just being Bernie. Marta rushed over, and Charity gave them her story.

"No offense, Candy, we love you and all, but, somehow you never really belonged here," Bernie said with a kind wink. "We knew you'd eventually be movin' on to greener pastures."

Charity was going to miss him terribly. When it came time to bring their two worlds together, Bernie was the first Muggle she would bring to Diagon Alley. She figured she'd probably have to prime him with a few pints at the Leaky Cauldron first.

"Do you think you can make it back for this?" Marta asked and handed Charity an invitation to their wedding. Apparently that's what she'd been working on at the information desk.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything!" Charity assured them. Before she left, she handed Bernie her copy of _The Wand_ to pass on to Leanne. She was learning exactly how finite time was and no longer wanted to waste a moment of it.

The magazine's offices were located at a very prestigious address, which was accessed through a section of the wall surrounding the Tower of London. After making sure no Muggles were watching, Charity pressed on a certain bulging stone in the wall while repeating "integrity" three times. A long corridor appeared in front of her. Charity stepped into the corridor and the wall sealed shut behind her. She walked to the end of the corridor, opened a glass door, and entered a sleek, shiny reception area. Her father was there waiting for her.

"You and your mum make it in okay?"

"Obviously," Charity smiled at him. He led her down a hallway and through a glass door marked Magical Minds Weekly and called out, "We're here Mel!"

A tall woman with short, silver hair and wearing a navy blue pantsuit popped her head out of a doorway down a narrow hallway and motioned them in. Mr. Burbage introduced Charity to Melody Harpsinger, the reporter, and stood around making banal chit-chat. Charity knew he was stalling so he could get a good look at the famous Harry Potter, who would be joining them at any moment. The boy was now more of a hero and legend than ever. And why shouldn't he be? He'd taken down the evil wizard who had tormented both the magical and non-magical worlds for more than fifty years.

When Potter arrived, he and Charity greeted each other with an awkward sort of half-hug. What was the proper greeting for someone you hardly knew in the first place? Charity was struck by how little Potter acted like a celebrated hero. There was no swaggering walk or flashing, toothy smile. Instead, the boy seemed shy and nervous. He fidgeted constantly with his fingers, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. During the interview, he kept his focus very much on Snape and never once tried to work in a boast about his own amazing feats. Charity sensed immediately how mistaken her prior impression of him had been. She had never before appreciated this remarkable humility amidst all the heroism and bravery.

Mr. Burbage, whose expression was just short of gawking, stepped up with his hand outstretched to Harry and said, "I hear 'Congratulations' are in order."

Harry gave an unsure smile and said, "Word's spread that fast, has it?"

In response to Ms. Harpsinger's and Charity's questioning looks, Mr. Burbage said, "Scooped you, have I, Mel? Mr. Potter here has just been recruited to the Auror Department at the Ministry. Youngest ever, eh?"

Charity could tell that her father was quite pleased with himself at having this bit of inside information. Meanwhile, Potter looked mildly embarrassed. Charity examined him and sent up a quick prayer that the handsome boy in front of her wouldn't end up as scarred and disfigured as Alastor Moody had done. Ms. Harpsinger, not pleased at being scooped, shooed Charity's father out and began the interview. The reporter had a no-nonsense air about her and got right down to business.

"You two have stories that will be interesting enough to tell on their own – Harry, you'll no doubt have an entire book, if not a whole series of them, written about you. And Miss Burbage, I know your father has already arranged to publish a series of your articles on 'Life as a Muggle' in _Wide World of Wizards_. However, today we are here to talk about Severus Snape.

"This article is going focus on his final year, but first let me review a bit of his history." Ms. Harpsinger looked down her nose through rectangular-framed reading glasses and rifled through pages of notes as she continued, "Severus Snape joined the Death Eaters just after leaving Hogwarts. Somewhere along the way, he apparently saw the error of his ways and turned spy against You-Know-Who. That is according to testimony by Albus Dumbledore. Snape was, therefore, cleared by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and came to work as a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He continued as a professor there until last year when Albus Dumbledore was murdered. Let's start there. Tell me what you know about the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Harry."

Charity was every bit as curious as the interviewer. Her heart thudded so forcefully that she could feel its beat reverberating into her throat. This would be the closest she'd come to Snape in a very long time.

"Professor Dumbledore was already sick," Harry said. "He'd been cursed during his travels, and Professor Snape was able to contain the damage for a while, but it was only temporary." He turned to Charity at this point and said, "Do you remember when Professor Dumbledore's hand looked all dark and shriveled?"

"Of course," said Charity as she recollected.

"That was from the curse."

"What kind of curse was it?" asked the reporter.

"Erm, I dunno exactly. It was dark magic – something Voldemort had done." The reporter flinched at the mention of the name. She stopped her note-taking for a moment before clenching her eyes tightly and writing a single letter – V – on her paper.

"Go on," she said.

"Professor Dumbledore knew that he had less than a year to live and that he would likely die an excruciatingly painful death. The 'murder' was planned between the two of them."

"Planned between Dumbledore and Snape?"

"Yes. Since Professor Dumbledore was going to die anyhow, it was one way to make sure that nobody doubted that Professor Snape was a true Death Eater. Also…also, dying from the curse would have been really bad, very painful for Professor Dumbledore, so by killing him quickly, Professor Snape saved him a lot of misery."

"And did you know about this plan at the time?"

"No, I thought Snape, Professor Snape, was a Death Eater, just like the rest of the world."

"And when did you find out the truth?"

"Snape shared this memory with me the night he died."

"And you accept this memory as fact."

"I do."

"Miss Burbage, as a colleague of Professor Snape's at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the time, how did you understand the events of that night?"

Charity's mind was reeling. Finally she understood why Snape had killed Dumbledore! Her heart broke for him. Snape had come to her that night not to bolster himself to do something supremely evil but something supremely courageous and unselfish. Had he realized that the murder was going to take place that very night, or did he simply know the time was approaching?

She answered shakily, "I understood them the same as Harry. I thought Severus had gone back to the dark side."

Snape had given her a sleeping potion that night. He knew what he was going to do, and he'd wanted to make sure she was kept away from it. Charity had many avenues down which her mind needed to wander, but she didn't want to miss any important information, so she forced herself to refocus on the interview.

"Harry, when and why exactly do you think Snape came back to the good side?" Ms. Harpsinger was asking.

"It was at the time that Voldemort decided to go after my parents. So, about seventeen years ago. I think he finally understood what Voldemort was all about."

"Your parents…didn't Snape and your father have a very tenuous relationship."

"Yes, but he and my mother had been childhood friends." This was news to Charity.

"So you're saying that his eyes were opened to the evil now that it was hitting closer to home?"

"Er, yes," Harry answered simply, but it seemed to Charity that he was leaving something out. The interviewer, however, seemed satisfied and turned her focus to Charity.

"Two weeks after Severus Snape murdered Albus Dumbledore, he saved _your_ life right under V-V-You-Know-Who's nose, so to speak. Tell me about that."

Charity went on to tell the story of how Snape had rescued her and set her up to live in hiding as a Muggle. She also told of how he saved the lives of the British Prime Minister and hundreds of Muggles that day at the Underground. Like Harry, she didn't reveal everything.

"Amazing. Truly tragic that we are only learning of these heroic deeds after the man himself is gone. I understand that he also had something to do with the Sword of Gryffindor?" she asked, turning to Harry.

"Yes. Only a true Gryffindor can use the Sword of Gryffindor, like Neville Longbottom did when he pulled the sword from the sorting hat and killed Nagini, Voldemort's pet snake."

"Oh, don't worry about Longbottom – he'll likely be getting his own book as well," the interviewer interjected.

"I hope so. Anyhow, Professor Snape figured that the Sword would be useful to Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and me in fighting Voldemort. When he found out that we were hiding in the Forest of Dean, he brought it to us."

"How did he find out where you were hiding?"

"He found out from Phinaus Nigellus' portrait. There's one in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts and also at Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black's family home. Hermione had hidden the Grimmauld portrait in her bag when we were hiding out there so that he wouldn't be able to report us to Snape in the Headmaster's office. We still thought Snape, Professor Snape, was bad. Right, so we had to abandon Grimmauld kind of suddenly and never thought to take out the portrait and leave it there. Then I guess we just kind of forgot about it."

"Forgot you were carrying around a portrait?"

"Oh, yeah, Hermione put an Extension Charm on her purse. She had all kinds of things in there," Harry said as he smiled and shook his head, remembering.

"Hermione Granger is your age, correct?"

"Uh huh."

"You're telling me that an eighteen-year-old witch was able to perform an Undetectable Extension Charm large enough to hold a full-size portrait?" Ms. Harpsinger had pulled off her glasses and looked at Harry in amazement. Charity made a mental note to look into Undetectable Extension Charms so she could figure out exactly what they were talking about.

"Yup, but she was seventeen at the time," Harry answered proudly. Ms. Harpsinger let out a low whistle and replaced her glasses before continuing.

"So, Snape just showed up out of nowhere and handed you the sword?"

"Er, no. He kept his involvement secret. He couldn't risk anyone knowing he was helping us, so he hid the sword in the forest and led me to it with his Patronus."

"You didn't know it was Snape's Patronus?"

"No. I didn't even think he could conjure a Patronus, because I thought he was a true Death Eater. Patronuses come from good thoughts and love - I don't think a real Death Eater has enough of either to make a decent Patronus."

"So you knew the Patronus must be coming from someone good and you followed."

"Er, actually I didn't really think about it all. I don't know if I even realized at the time that it was a Patronus. It just seemed…familiar…" was Charity imagining it or did young Potter's eyes mist over as he thought back? "And somehow I knew I could trust it."

"Okay," said the interviewer. "What shape was Snape's Patronus."

Potter's mind had definitely wandered elsewhere. He answered distractedly, "It was a doe. A deer."

"A female deer? Unusual," Ms. Harpsinger murmured as she wrote the information down.

This conversation was sounding too familiar…so, Snape had taken Charity to The Forest of Dean that night. Unless, of course it was a frequent habit of his to go shooting off his Patronus in random forests. Charity's mind went skipping down this avenue while Potter described in more detail how he had retrieved the sword.

"Very good." The interviewer said as she scribbled down these details in her notes. "Let's talk about Snape's last moments."

Charity's mind snapped back to attention, and she unconsciously moved to the edge of her seat. Her thudding heart was back, and this time she felt as if it might leap right out of her. The pounding beat was so loud in her ears that she had to take in several slow and silent breaths in order to calm herself so she could catch every syllable.

Harry told of Voldemort's mistaken reasons for killing Snape and of how Voldemort's snake had descended on him with the crushing blow of its fangs. He also explained that he had crawled out of hiding after Voldemort had departed, and he had sat by Snape's side as he died.

"What were his last words?"

"Look at me,"1 Harry said sadly. Charity felt sorry for Potter having to relive what must have been a horrid experience. Charity could see his eyes flicking slightly back and forth, remembering much more than he was saying.

"Look at me?" clarified the interviewer.

"Yes. Then I looked at him, and he was looking at me, right into my eyes, and then he was gone."

Charity found this last request of Snape's to be very odd. He had never seemed altogether fond of Harry Potter, despite this newly revealed friendship with his mother. Why would he want spend his last moments looking into Potter's eyes?

Harry's eyes…it was common knowledge around Hogwarts that Harry had his mother's eyes…...his mother's eyes…'_Look at me'__2_…Snape and Harry's mother had been childhood friends…Snape had turned to the good side at the time when Voldemort killed James and Lily Potter...didn't Harry also say that there was something familiar to him about Snape's Patronus…Snape's Patronus…the one he had lost to Voldemort…_Harry had his mother's eyes_…of course! Lily Potter was the one Snape had lost to Voldemort! And his last wish was to look into _her_ eyes…His last wish was to look into her eyes...

It hit Charity like a powerful punch to the stomach, and she inadvertently let out a gasp. Harry glanced toward her, but she tried to play it off as just a small sob of sadness. She felt like such a fool! How could she have actually believed that she - stupid, silly Charity Burbage - could have been the object of devotion of a man like Severus Snape, the only man intelligent and skilled enough to have earned the complete confidence of both Dumbledore and Voldemort, the two most powerful wizards of their time? Lily Potter was an amazing witch by all accounts. Of course she would be the kind of woman to capture Snape's heart and keep it, even if she did run off and marry someone else.

"Miss Burbage?"

Charity was brought back to the tiny room with Harry and Ms. Harpsinger, who were both looking at her with concern.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked quietly, looking at her with his eyes. His mother's eyes.

Charity looked quickly away from him and said, "Oh, yes, fine, fine. What were you saying Ms. Harpsinger?"

"Well, if you're up to it dear, I'd like hear about your final experience with Severus Snape."

That was the last thing Charity wanted to think about right now, but what choice did she have? At least she'd known this question was coming, so all she had to do was give her prepared answer.

"He came to my flat about two months before the Battle of Hogwarts. He seemed very tired and full of anxiety. I think he was just looking for some comfort, a little respite from the stress he was under."

Ms. Harpsinger tilted her head forward and looked over the rim of her glasses at Charity. She gave her a piercing look as she asked, "Did he find that with you?"

Charity was taken aback at the directness of the question and said, "I think so, well, I thought so, but…I don't know." At these last words, Charity's voice cracked and it took a tremendous amount of effort to hold back her tears. The emotions evoked during this interview had pierced too many holes in her protective cloak and it fell completely away.

Ms. Harpsinger took on a very soothing, motherly tone as she said, "What was the last thing Severus Snape said to you?"

Charity thought back; she honestly couldn't remember.

"He didn't really say much. He had to leave in a hurry because his Dark Mark was signaling him. But I told him…" Her stomach lurched as she thought of everything she had said to him. Her tears were dangerously close to the surface and Charity closed her mouth and choked them back. She shook her head and Ms. Harpsinger very kindly didn't press her to continue. Until this moment, Charity had taken great comfort in knowing that she had told Snape all of those things before he died, but now she only felt foolish for having said them.

Charity walked out of the interview raw. She'd managed a decent good-bye to Harry and Ms. Harpsinger and left her father with a peck on the cheek in a haze. She stared absently at her reflection in the window as she bumped along on the Underground with huge tears streaming warmly out of the corners of her eyes. She couldn't even recollect her walk from the station to Doughty Street as she stood in front of her door.

Everything she'd thought she'd had with Snape was completely false.

She unconsciously opened her door and stood still in the doorway. She gazed across the room to the place where he'd tenderly held her face in his hands and where she'd fervently dug her fingers into his back. How could none of that have been real?

Mrs. Burbage was at the fireplace, stuffing in a large cardboard box full of Charity's belongings. She shouted, "One-twenty-eight Highbury Street," into the flames. When she turned and looked over her shoulder, she saw Charity and said, "Oh you're back." She saw immediately that Charity was upset.

"Oh, don't worry dear," her mother exclaimed in a somewhat panicked voice. "The Ministry approved temporary floo privileges to get you moved back home!" Charity's throat constricted, and she couldn't find her voice, so she shook her head vigorously back and forth to let her mother know she'd misunderstood.

"Was it the interview, then?" her mother asked, and Charity shook her head vigorously up and down as tears streamed down her face. She began to sob in little squeaks. Mrs. Burbage bustled over and enveloped her daughter in a much needed hug.

"It was that Harpsinger woman wasn't it? Oh, your father's going to hear about this. I've been telling him about that one for years. Honestly, I don't know what kind of witch walks around wearing _pants_ all the time!"

Charity's misery had very little to do with Ms. Harpsinger's pants. It had a lot to do with Severus Snape and Lily Potter, but that wasn't everything. Charity was suffering from disillusionment with everything she thought she'd understood. She'd left the magical world in a perilous enough state, but she'd always assumed she'd return to find the danger gone and everything else pretty much the way she'd left it. Instead, she'd found scores of great witches and wizards erased from the earth and their survivors left behind in terrible grief.

These were the harsh realities she'd been emotionally shielding herself from for weeks. When she'd walked into the flat and seen her mother shoving her entire Muggle life into the fire, it was as if she'd taken all of Charity's naive hopes and dreams, the ones she'd had while living here in her Muggle flat, and thrown them into the fire to combust.

While she was at it, Charity let incoherently loose on all of her emotions. She had felt another sense of loss as she watched her belongings sent on their way to her parents' house. While living in this flat she'd learned exactly what she was capable of. She'd taken care of herself while she lived here and had never been more independent in her life. As much as she was grateful to be returning to her parents and the magical world, she felt her independence slipping away. The thought of returning to her childhood home became stifling to her, and the tears continued.

Her next wave of tears turned into those of guilt for her selfishness at resenting the gift of her parents. Harry Potter had talked about his parents dying when he was just a baby. He'd never know the warmth and comfort two doting parents could give. So, added to the multitude of other tears, were tears for poor little Harry, who never knew his parents and for the newborn baby that she'd heard had been orphaned when both of his parents had died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

1 Quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling, pg. 658

2 Ibid


	26. Return to Hogwarts

Chapter 26

Return to Hogwarts

Charity cried for two full days after she came home. Her multitude of emotions had left her physically exhausted. She was fatigued by early evening, and it was becoming difficult to drag herself out of bed in the morning. She wasn't herself at all, physically or mentally.

Her feelings towards Snape were conflicted. On the one hand, her ego was completely deflated. She had convinced herself that Snape was really and truly attached to her, but when she thought back and examined their interactions, she realized that he'd never actually told her exactly how he'd felt about her. She'd been the only idiot doing the talking. It was obvious to her now that she'd imputed far too much into his actions. She didn't doubt that she'd turned Snape's head, but she had clearly not succeeded in turning his heart. Maybe if she'd had more time…but that didn't really matter now, did it?

She couldn't help but feel jealous of Lily Potter. Charity had never been happier than in those moments when she'd thought she was secure in Snape's affections. To find that his affections had always belonged to someone else was wrenching. Occasionally a flame of spite would flare up in Charity, and she would think things like, "_Well, now he has his wish and he's with her. So I hope they're happy being dead together_." She'd feel immediately ashamed after having such twisted thoughts as these, but that didn't stop her from having them again.

Even through all of her tortured thoughts, however, Charity never once viewed Snape as anything but brilliant and noble. She knew the good that he had done for the world, so she tried to focus on feeling grateful that she'd been able to provide him with some distraction and comfort while he dealt with the agonies of his double life. She fought constantly with herself to keep her thoughts regarding Snape on this higher plain.

Even so, she'd sometimes become angry with him for having taken advantage of her naïve feelings. How could he not have realized that she was falling in love with him? For all of his cleverness, didn't he know that she never would have let him get so close if she hadn't believed that he also loved her? On her last night with Snape, she'd believed that promises had been made between them. Those promises were now either broken or had never existed in the first place.

Perhaps Snape truly hadn't realized how strong Charity's feelings had grown. Of course, now that he'd moved on to the afterlife, he'd know everything and would see the truth. Charity's spiteful side occasionally sent up a wish that Snape was feeling more than a twinge of remorse for misleading her, intentionally or not.

*****

Charity headed back to Hogwarts with all of these feelings rattling around inside her. She arrived a few days before the memorial to help with preparations. The castle had been badly damaged during the final battle, so there was much work to be done. From a distance, the castle maintained its stately appearance. Charity was relieved and comforted at her first glimpse of the stronghold as it perched resolutely atop its rock, reaching its majestic turrets towards Heaven. As her carriage drew closer, she detected large holes that had been blasted through the thick stone walls. She squinted and scanned the castle's outline for the location of the blasted off tower. Closer still, she could make out jagged teeth of glass, which were all that remained in most of the window openings. One of the winged boars topping the pillars at the entrance gate stood uncertainly atop its pillar with a heavily bandaged wing. He gazed mournfully across the gate to the opposite pillar where his comrade stood headless.

The external damage that Charity witnessed was minor compared to conditions inside the castle. Rubble lay everywhere. Staircases had been completely blown away or at a minimum were minus their railings. Scorch marks decorated the walls, and portraits either hung crookedly or lay on the floor, their frames smashed. Instead of heartbreak at seeing this beloved building so victimized, Charity felt triumph as she stepped through the great oak front doors. The building hadn't fallen. It had provided the scene of that final, victorious battle and weathered its lumps heroically.

Professor McGonagall met Charity in the entrance hall. The warmth and emotion in the embrace between the two women spoke of how much had happened since the older witch had first greeted Professor Burbage in this entrance hall. The stalwart McGonagall was actually sniffling by the time they separated.

"Oh, my dear girl," she said with shining eyes. "Your reappearance has given us something to celebrate."

"Minerva," Charity responded as she squeezed her hands. "It is so good to see you!"

Charity took her things to a small room on the first floor that would be her temporary quarters. She settled in quickly, so that she could make a cursory inspection of the blasted-off tower before meeting with her colleagues for dinner in the Great Hall. After a few detours, due to now missing or blocked-off staircases and corridors, Charity finally reached the heavy door she had tried in vain to open almost four years earlier. She wasn't sure why she expected it to yield for her this time, but she thought optimistically that maybe she would be permitted entry simply by believing in the existence of the camouflaged tower. She held her breath and tried the ancient door knob.

Nothing.

She looked up and down the hall to make sure it was still vacant. She took out her wand, pointed it to the door, and said, "Alohamora."

Nothing.

By now it was time to head down to supper, and it was just as well because any more time spent trying to open the sealed door would have been wasted.

Charity was reunited with many of her Hogwarts colleagues as they gathered around a large table at the center of the Great Hall. They were devising a plan to get the castle in shape for the memorial. Like Charity, the others had been busy with personal matters until now. The grounds, the Great Hall, and the Entrance Hall were the top priorities, as these were the stage for the memorial service and reception. Dutch Carpenter Elves and Goblins would begin restoration work on the rest of the castle the following week.

Professor McGonagall began the meeting by saying, "I would like to thank Mr. Filch for having already made considerable headway in cleaning up the Great Hall. Excellent job Mr. Filch." Filch, who had been vigorously scrubbing in one corner of the hall and muttering under his breath, looked up in some surprise when the rest of the staff clapped for him. He lowered his rag for a second and gave a nod of appreciation before turning around to continue the job with a perceptible note of pride.

After the professors had developed a plan of attack and assigned duties, McGonagall rushed off to coordinate plans with the Ministry. Hagrid and Firenze set out to work with Grawp, Hagrid's giant half-brother, and the other Centaurs to clear fallen limbs, heavy stones, and chunks of crumbled castle from the grounds. The remaining staff would not begin work until the next morning, so they lingered over their tea and spotted dick with much to discuss. Everyone was curious about Charity's life as a Muggle, and she was happy to share most everything with them.

The conversation inevitably turned to the subject of Severus Snape. Charity was very uncomfortable with the topic and wanted to excuse herself but was afraid of looking too obvious, so she sat quietly, hoping the conversation would turn.

"I understand that he had to keep up appearances for You-Know-Who, but did he really have to be _that_ nasty?" asked Professor Vector.

"I don't know that it was just for appearances. I think it was his natural disposition," responded Sinistra.

"His antisociability makes it rather more remarkable that, in the end, he sacrificed so much for the benefit of others," Sprout added philosophically.

Professor Vector directed his gaze toward Charity and said, "He always had a soft spot for you though, didn't he?"

Charity's heart jumped inside of her.

"Did he?" she asked, trying to fight off a spontaneous smile.

"Oh, come dear," said Professor Flitwick. "You didn't see him running to the rescue of any of _our_ students when we put them in mortal danger, did you?"

In response to Charity's confused look, he added, "The kelpie at the lake..."

Comprehension dawned on Charity, and she said, "You knew about that?"

"Small castle, dear," answered Madam Hooch. "And the walls talk, literally." Was it just Charity, or was everyone suddenly calling her 'dear?' No time to dwell on that, though; Charity had another thought to occupy her - the others had noticed that Snape had given her particular attention. Perhaps his affections weren't entirely imagined. Charity's happiness at this new thought was stifled by the realization that the other professors didn't know about Snape and the Potter woman, his other 'deer.' Or worse, maybe they did, and Charity was a something of a joke among them. As she turned the conversation over in her mind, she considered that perhaps the protective affection that they saw in Snape was more paternal than romantic. That would add whole new dimension to the story, wouldn't it?

As Charity sat with these thoughts whirring through her head, she longed more than ever for someone to whom she could confide her feelings for Snape. But who? She looked around the table and realized that no one there could provide an objective ear. They'd all known Snape too well. Besides, Charity didn't want to do or say anything that may taint their image of him. She thought of the girls in the portrait and her past conversations with them. They were exactly what she needed!

After the group of professors broke up for the evening, Charity headed inconspicuously down the second floor corridor. Several paintings were badly damaged. The fighting on this floor had obviously been very intense. Charity began to worry for her friends and quickened her pace. When she arrived at the spot where the girls had hung, she saw that they were not there. In place of their frame was a large scorch mark on the stone wall. The damage to that particular painting must have been severe enough that it had been taken down to the dungeons with a stack of others in need of comprehensive repairs. Charity was disappointed. There was no way she'd be able to rifle through the huge pile in the dungeons tonight.

As she began to move along the hall, a vivid memory of one of the last times Charity had seen the girls popped into her head. As that conversation had ended, the small sprightly girl had propositioned Charity with chamomile tea. _'Those girls certainly do like their tea,_' Charity thought with a small chuckle. She remembered that it had seemed odd when the older girls had harshly scolded Sprightly for mentioning the tea. Charity stopped dead in her tracks. Tea!

The slips of paper she had found, the ones that were a sort of invitation or something to the secret club meetings, had each listed a different topic and a different type of tea. Didn't secret meetings often involve a secret password? Could the names of the tea be the password? Was '_chamomile'_ the password to the hidden tower? Charity caught her breath and headed straight for the blasted-off tower.

She didn't dare to let herself hope too much that this was actually going to work. Especially when she needed it so much. She soon stood in front of the door with her heart thumping wildly. She placed her hand on the door knob and said, "Chamomile."

The knob turned!

After a sharp intake of breath, Charity pushed the door open. It was nearly pitch dark beyond the threshold, but dull light from torches in the corridor revealed a solid floor and the bottom steps of a spiral staircase. What was she going to find at the top of those stairs?

She pulled out her new wand and uttered, "Luminos."

The tip of her wand emitted a small circle of bright light, like a Muggle flashlight, and she stepped into the tower and shut the door behind her. The heels of her shoes tapped on every step, clicking off the seconds until she would be come face-to-face with her friends. The seconds turned to minutes as Charity continued winding her way up the tower. The room was apparently at or near the very top. Occasionally, the solid stone wall was broken by a narrow, silvery window. Peering through, Charity would see either the dim outline of the Forbidden Forest or a mass of other towers and castle rooftop. She didn't take the time to admire the view, however, because she was too anxious to reach her destination.

At last she came to a small landing, which ended in a door.

Charity stated, "Chamomile." again.

The door swung slowly inward of its own accord. Charity inhaled deeply and stepped through the doorway. She was faced with a short flight of steps and raced up them. Within seconds she stood in the center of a small, circular room. A thick beam of silver moonlight cut across the scene. Charity deluminated her wand to start a fire in the grate and soon the warm gold glow of dancing flames mixed with the stoic beam of cool silver.

Charity could now see that the room contained several chairs of varying degrees of comfort. They were arranged in a semi-circle at the center of the room just like in the painting. Across the way was the oak sideboard. The only thing missing was the girls. And the tea. Charity looked back at the chairs and counted – there were eleven. She was positive that there had been exactly ten girls in the painting. Why eleven chairs? Maybe one was for her.

Taking a page from a Muggle fairy tale, Charity tried each chair in turn to see which one was just right for her. When she reached a chair toward the center of the grouping, she froze and listened intently. A subtle noise coursed through the room, like wind blowing or whispers.

If it was whispers, this is what Charity thought she heard:

_"…look at her…she found us…"_

_"…she emits an aura…"_

_"…I feel it too…"_

_"…yes, very strong…rules…doesn't meet requirements…"_

_"…special case…just this once…"_

There was a brief pause as the wind, or whatever it was, swirled. All noise ended with a resounding "NO!"

Charity was left in a complete and lonely silence. There was something very final in that '_NO!_' Charity somehow understood this was as far as she was ever going to be allowed into the club. She hadn't realized until that moment exactly how much she'd been depending on the council of the girls to ease her mind and end her torment.

Helpless tears climbed Charity's throat and leaked from her eyes as she sank into her chair and cried in desperation. Was she never going to feel anything but loneliness and anger and hopelessness again? How was she supposed to get better? Who was going to help her?


	27. Spires and Tombs

Chapter 27

Spires and Tombs

The work to be done around the castle kept Charity from slipping entirely into listlessness and motivated her to keep moving during the next few days. With Snape so alive in her thoughts, the day of his funeral snuck up before she was completely ready for it. It was time to finally put him to rest.

A calm pool of sadness filled Charity as she placed a black, veiled hat on her head that morning. Her sadness swelled when she slowly made her way out of the castle and for the first time felt Snape's utter and absolute absence. She purposely took a detour past her old classroom and passed the statue of the hump-backed witch, which had unfortunately survived the attack, and remembered teasing Snape about something or other there. Further down the hall, she thought of how he'd chivalrously helped her off of Professor Vector during the firework rampage. As she slowly descended the entrance hall staircase, she glanced toward the dungeon door that led to his office. She wondered how many times she had glanced that same way, hoping to either catch him or avoid him. There was no such anticipation today, because he was gone.

_He was gone._ That thought consumed her as she walked sadly onto the grey, overcast grounds where hundreds of others were starting to gather in front of the lake, in roughly the same spot where Dumbledore's funeral had taken place. She was searching the crowd for her parents when she heard a shout coming from a short distance away.

"Oy, Charity! It's you! You really are alive!" Charity turned toward the shouts and saw Oliver Wood fighting his way through the crowd to her. He finally reached her and scooped her up into the air.

Charity hugged him tightly around the neck, exclaiming, "Oh, Ollie!"

It felt good to be encircled in his strong grip, and she felt her sadness recede a bit as he lifted her. She also felt a stab of guilt that she'd never even thought to get in touch with him since her return to the wizarding world. They barely had time to exchange greetings before they were shooed to their seats. With a promise to catch up with him at the reception, Charity left Oliver and went to sit with the rest of the Hogwarts faculty in the front two rows. She spotted her parents a few rows behind and gave them a quick wave.

Snape's closed casket was already set at the front of the outdoor chapel, close to Dumbledore's tomb. Bagpipes droned, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin, and the crowd fell silent in the thick, muggy air. A feathery-headed minister came to stand in front of Snape's casket. After clearing his throat, the minister went on to explain to the mourners how Severus Snape had suffered in this world.

"…at great personal sacrifice he turned from the path of evil and chose the path of righteousness. He did what he knew was right, yet he neither asked for nor received any reward here on this earth. Surely he has now received his reward in heaven."

A picture of Lily Potter flashed into Charity's mind when he'd said '_reward in heaven,'_ and a sarcastic, "chuh," escaped her. She glanced from side to side to see if anyone had noticed and then chided herself to be good while she focused intently on what the minister said next.

" '_Take care! Don't do your good deeds publicly, to be admired, for then you will lose the reward from your Father in heaven…But when you do a kindness to someone, do it secretly - don't tell your left hand what your right hand is doing. And your Father who knows all secrets will reward you_.'1"

The bagpipes blared again, and the smell of incense permeated the air. All at once, the casket burst into great flames that died back nearly as quickly as they had ignited. Snape's body was now encased in a grey, stone tomb. It all happened so quickly that Charity hadn't even had to time to put herself into a proper state of mind for saying goodbye. She knew Snape's body was in that tomb, but somehow his death still didn't seem final.

The minister was joined by the tall and stately Kingsley Shaklebolt, a former Auror who had been made the new Minister of Magic. Charity had seen many pictures of him, of course, but this was her first time seeing him in person. His imposing stature and strong, calming voice inspired confidence in the new Ministry, even if they were now hiring seventeen-year-old Aurors.

Shaklebolt explained that the Ministry of Magic would dedicate a permanent memorial to those that gave their lives at the Battle of Hogwarts. He asked everyone to please stand and follow him to the sight of the memorial. The guests had no trouble following their leader, as his bald head towered above most of theirs. Charity joined her parents on the walk around the side of the castle.

Shaklebolt stopped them all just short of the Quidditch pitch. "Please, everyone, grab hands and form a large circle. That's right, just like nursery school," Shaklebolt said in a booming voice. After a few minutes and a bit of snickering, the crowd had formed a large circle. Shaklebolt stood at the center and now needed the help of the Sonorus charm to make sure he was heard.

"Here will stand pillars to each of the brave witches and wizards that gave their lives on that fateful May evening in defense of freedom and human dignity against a foe that had heretofore been unconquerable. Without each and every single one of these brave soldiers, we would not now be standing here as free men and women on the threshold of a new and glorious society. Fighting the legendary Battle of Hogwarts was not a matter of choice for these men and women that we honor here today. It was a matter of their integrity, which was unshakable, their courage, which was undeniable, and their love of mankind, which was insurmountable. There was never any question that they would be here that day, fighting for a better future for the world.

"We and all future generations owe a great debt to these soldiers. To ensure that none ever forget their selfless sacrifice, we will construct a permanent memorial on this sight, a memorial that future generations of Hogwarts students will walk through on their way to and from sporting matches in the Quidditch pitch just beyond. May every victory there be a small tribute to the enormous victory we all now enjoy because of Martin Andrews," Shaklebolt said and pointed his wand inside the human circle. Red and orange sparks shot from his wand to a point on the ground, and a crystal pillar rose amidst great crackling sounds and white flames. As the flames became iridescent, Charity could make out large letters that spelled out Martin's name vertically on the pillar.

Shaklebolt pointed to another spot and said, "Colin Creevey," and another flaming pillar grew from the ground. He continued through fifty names until fifty crystal pillars of varying height stood randomly within the circle. Applause rang as each pillar was erected and thundered for several minutes after the final crystal spire rose into the air.

The completed memorial rather mimicked Hogwarts castle with its many towers. Each pillar was spaced at least four to five feet apart so that visitors could easily walk among them. Two of the taller pillars, located near the center of the memorial, were joined together. They read "Remus Lupin" and "Nymphadora 'Tonks' Lupin"; the Lupins were the parents of the newly orphaned child. The crystal castle was beautiful enough on this grey day, but it was sure to be spectacular when the sun shone off of it. With the memorial completed, Shaklebolt said, "By the end of this evening, these physical flames will have died down, but don't ever let the flames of appreciation for what these people have sacrificed extinguish in your hearts. Be vigilant against evil, and protect your fellow man."

The minister shouted, "Amen!" and the crowd whooped.

Shaklebolt chuckled and said, "Thank you Father. Now, one more order of business before we can get to that delicious feast that I understand our invaluable Hogwarts House Elves have prepared for us. In case you didn't already know, these elves were some of our smallest but most effective soldiers that fateful night."

At this, Shaklebolt gestured toward the steps at the front entrance to the castle. Several House Elves had gathered there to watch the ceremony. Upon perceiving that they'd been noticed, they quickly turned their heads to the sides and looked around as if they weren't exactly what everyone was looking at. A bushy-haired girl, whom Charity thought might be Hermione Granger, crammed her fingers in her mouth and blew a loud whistle of appreciation. The crowd erupted in cheers for the elves. The recipients of this attention turned bright red and fell over themselves to get back into the shelter of the castle.

"We are also here to honor the living today," Shaklebolt continued. "Mr. Weasley, please join me." Charity spun around to see a stiff looking, red haired young man join Shaklebolt at the edge of the memorial. The crowd had broken their circle and were now gathered in a clump in front of Shaklebolt.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Percy Weasley. He has just agreed to head the new Special Projects Division at the Ministry."

"Thank you Minister," Percy said, standing up straight in an attempt to look important. He struggled to hold a heavy looking, stone plaque in the air, but when it proved too much for his skinny arms, Shaklebolt reached out to support the sinking tablet. "Thank you again, Minister," Percy said looking rather embarrassed.

Percy cleared his throat and continued, "The Special Projects Division has compiled a list of all those who fought here at the final battle, The Battle of Hogwarts. We are going to inscribe each of their names onto this plaque which will hang in the Ministry building for future generations to appreciate."

Mild applause followed this bland speech, and then Shaklebolt announced, "There are three individuals here today who by all accounts played especially key roles in that battle. Without them the outcome would likely have been very different than it was. We would like to honor them today with a Ministry Gold Medal of Honor. If I could ask you to step forward as I call your name.

"Harry Potter!" Shaklebolt boomed.

The crowd applauded, but Potter did not appear.

"Come on now Harry, this is no time for modesty," smiled Shaklebolt. Harry emerged from the crowd and graciously accepted the medal. As Percy Weasley pinned him, Shaklebolt continued, "For cunning, bravery, and patience in determining how to defeat Voldemort once and for all." Thunderous applause erupted.

After Shaklebolt quieted the crowd, he announced, "Neville Longbottom!"

An outbreak of whistles and shouts of approval ensued as Longbottom nervously, but proudly, walked up to receive his pin. Shaklebolt raised his booming voice to be heard, "For alone stepping out of the crowd to stand up to Voldemort and kill his infamous snake, Nagini.

Waiting for the applause to again die down, Shaklebolt continued, "Lastly, to someone who has fought this battle for a very long time and never given up - Molly Weasley!"

The crowd reached its highest pitch for Mrs. Weasley as she emerged from the cheering mass. She was more red-faced than usual and shrugged her shoulders as if she couldn't believe that all of these applause were for her. No one was making a louder racket than Arthur Weasley. It took Shaklebolt several minutes to calm them. Percy had already pinned his mother and was hugging her tightly before Shaklebolt was able to make himself heard again.

"For soundly defeating that most venomous of witches, Bellatrix LeStrange, and unselfishly lending all seven of her children to the cause, including Fred, whom we will all miss terribly."

The applause went on and on unhampered until they slowly and naturally died out. The crowd eventually broke into chatter and little by little began heading in to the relative cool of the castle.

"That was really something, wasn't it?" said Charity's mother as they walked across the muggy grounds toward the reception.

"I'll say," answered Mr. Burbage. "I wonder how much all that crystal set the Ministry back."

At the steps leading to the Entrance Hall, Charity was distracted by urns filled with long-stemmed roses. Their stems were thick and strong, and the thorns protruding from them were sharpened to fine, piercing points. For some reason, Charity couldn't look away from the blood-red flowers. She stopped dead and told her parents that she'd catch up with them inside. She felt an irresistible urge to bring the flowers to Snape's tomb. When nobody seemed to be paying her any attention, she grabbed a big bunch in both hands, delicately avoiding the thorns, and walked back to the tomb.

Everyone else was either heading to the castle or carefully navigating the still burning pillars at the memorial, so Charity found herself completely alone by the time she reached Snape. She shifted the roses to one hand and reached her other hand to the tomb, placing her palm flat against the warm grey stone. Thorns pricked at her, but she no longer cared. She let the heat of the warm tomb penetrate her hand and felt an indescribable, unmistakably pleasant sensation seep into her. She somehow understood the sensation to be a taste of heaven. She knew then beyond doubt that Severus had won the prize, the only prize worth winning. His repentance had been enough.

A peace washed over Charity. Suddenly the issues that had been roiling her for weeks seemed small, not so important. The overwhelming sensation gradually receded back into the tomb, but the memory of it remained and fortified Charity's spirit. It was going to be easier now for her to fight her demons: her jealousy; her selfishness. She'd been allowed a small space in a great man's life; she would be forever grateful for that.

Charity took the roses and one by one laid them around Snape's tomb. When she finished scattering the blood-red blooms, she was left with a few small gashes in her hands. They didn't bother her a bit. She placed both of her bleeding hands on the tomb, leaned forward, and kissed the warm, grey stone.

"I love you," she whispered. Huge tears welled in her eyes and escaped.

She didn't regret the words that she knew could not be returned. She finally realized that she didn't want to banish the things in her that made her love Severus Snape. She was going to hold onto that love tightly, because it was something good. And all those people honored at the memorial today trusted that goodness in this world was so important that it was worth dying for.

1 Matthew 6:1,3-4


	28. Into the Pensieve

Chapter 28

Into the Pensieve

The rebuilding of Hogwarts began in earnest the day after the memorial. The Dutch Carpenter Elves arrived and swarmed the castle, repairing banisters, rebuilding stairs, and installing new windows. These elves were the only ones who could handle such a task, because they were the only ones who understood the magic that caused the stairs to shift, rotate, and disappear.

Meanwhile goblins went to work on restoration of the gilding throughout the castle. By nature, goblins were untrusting of wizards; they believed that anything originally made by goblins truly belonged to goblins, and therefore had been stolen by the wizard who possessed it. It was not uncommon for a goblin to make off with items that they justified as theirs, regardless of the actual facts in the case. Therefore, wizards were likewise untrusting of goblins. A staff member was required to keep an eye on the goblins to make sure Hogwarts wasn't ripped off. Charity was thankful to have been excused from this particular duty as she was not regarded as tough enough to deal with the unpleasant species.

The Centaurs, who had come to the wizards' aid at the end of the battle, set aside their pride and agreed to help with manual labor during the rebuilding process. They were invaluable for carrying lumber from the forest and hauling much of the rubble out to the dumpsite. In addition, there seemed to have been reconciliation between Firenze and the rest of the herd.

Charity, who'd regained some of her old energy after the funeral, spent most of her time cleaning up after the workers and gluing portrait frames back together. She wandered down to the dungeons to search through the worst cases, which had already been picked over for anything salvageable. Muggles would have burned such remains without ado, and that's probably what wizards should have done, but since the occupants of these paintings had their own two-dimensional, oil-based lives, it seemed as if someone should at least try to save them.

Charity's tea party girls hadn't yet surfaced, so she elected to give the remains one more go. Any small hopes of finding her girls disappeared the moment she laid eyes on the tattered mound in the center of the dungeon room. Ninety minutes of searching brought her a small section of canvas that depicted a portion of the familiar fireplace and another with a chunk of the telltale sideboard. All else was charred beyond recognition. Charity took the two scraps with her; there would be no proper memorial for these girls, but Charity would at least box and bury this much as a tribute her dear friends.

It was getting to be time for the professors to start planning for the upcoming school year. There had been talk of taking a one-year hiatus, but it was unanimously decided that the best thing to do was to push forward and educate the next generation on schedule. Muggle Studies was now going to be a two-year minimum requirement for all students that hoped to graduate from Hogwarts. Not only that, there was talk making Muggle Studies a more significant portion of the O.W.L. exams. If this happened, the Hogwarts Muggle Studies professor would likely become a member of the Committee on Magical Academics (C.O.M.A.) to help develop the new tests.

Charity had a very busy year ahead of her. She was glad she hadn't added further distraction to her life by revealing to anyone the full extent of her relationship with Severus Snape. At first she'd been reluctant to share this information because of how one-sided the relationship had been, but she also realized that the tiniest hint of any romance between her and Snape would turn positively scandalous in the hands of someone like a Rita Skeeter. Best to keep those details to herself.

Charity sighed as she thought about these things while on break one day in her old office. She'd been re-reading the article for which she'd been interviewed in Magical Minds Weekly and subconsciously ran a loving finger over the photo of Snape that accompanied it. It was a very good picture. It had been snapped as Snape looked off toward some distant point, his black eyes slightly narrowed in concentration and his face set in quiet determination. He didn't move, probably because Snape had never been very animated in real life, but it was exactly how Charity wanted to remember him.

She pulled out the antique silver picture frame and cropped Snape's photo with her wand to make it fit. She placed the picture in the frame and tucked the precious note behind it. When she turned the frame over to see the effect, it shone more lustrously than it ever had, even after being freshly polished. A faint monogram at the bottom of the frame caught Charity's eye. She'd never noticed it before. It was etched with the initials: APM

As Charity reached her fingertips toward the lettering, Harry Potter appeared in her doorway. With his eyes. He'd arrived back at Hogwarts the day before to help with the rebuilding and who knows what else. Charity instinctively laid the frame face down.

"Professor Burbage?" Potter asked tentatively.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Sometime, when you have a few minutes, I was wondering if you could come with me. It's regarding Professor Snape," he said gently.

Something in Potter's tone made Charity nervous. She pushed herself up from the floor where she'd been sitting and knocked over a stack of dusty books piled next to her. "Is now alright?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes," he said quickly, seeming relieved that she'd acquiesced so quickly. "This way."

They walked in silence as she followed him to the headmaster's office. McGonagall had taken over the post of headmaster, but she was nowhere to be seen at the moment. It seemed Potter had quite a bit of authority around the castle as he marched directly into the vacant office after telling the stone gargoyle at its entrance, "Snapdragons."

The only time Charity had ever been in this office was for her interview with Dumbledore, nearly four years earlier. Very little had changed in the office since then; somehow it had been spared the ravages of battle. One small difference, which Charity found pleasing, was the black cloth shrouds covering the portraits of the stern old men and women that lined the walls. Charity had never figured out that these were portraits of all the deceased headmasters of Hogwarts. She caught bits and pieces of the portraits' grumblings. They did not seem at all happy with their predicament, which she supposed was some tradition to do with mourning the latest occupant of this office.

"…someone entered the room. I say, who's there?"

"… a most disrespectful way to treat…"

"…off to Grimauld. Do send word when you can see the light…"

"Who's there? I say who's there?"

Ironically, the covered portrait that most drew Charity's attention was one that was completely silent. Her attention left the portrait when Harry steered her around to a small spindly table with a shallow, stone basin set upon it.

"Do you know what a Pensieve is?" Harry asked.

"I've heard of them, yes, but I didn't know they actually existed, at least not in modern times," Charity answered as she looked at the basin. A Pensieve was a device in which one could review thoughts and memories. These thoughts and memories were retrieved from the mind and either placed directly into the basin of the Pensieve or stored in a jar for future review.

"…Potter boy again…" muttered one of the portraits. Charity could almost hear his eyes rolling.

"…someone with him…"

With his full attention on the Pensieve, Harry explained that he had retrieved some of Snape's memories on the night he died. "That's how I learned a lot of the stuff I talked about during the interview," he told Charity.

Charity nodded in comprehension. "I had the impression that you may have left out a few things," she said.

"Er, yeah, there were some things that Snape - Professor Snape - might not want the whole world to know." Potter hesitated and then said, "I'm not going to show you all of the memories either, but there are some here that I know he'd want you to see. I don't think he would have shared them otherwise."

Charity nodded her assent, and the two of them bent over the Pensieve as Harry poured the contents of a small glass vial into it. The contents, which seemed to be half liquid, half something else, swirled around in the bowl-like device. Every once in a while Charity thought she could see indistinct shapes starting to form before they quickly dissolved into ambiguous swirls.

"Right then, we're going to lean all the way in," Potter explained. "It's going to feel like you're falling for a while, but we'll be okay. Oh, and no one else will be able to see you while we're in there, because they're just memories." He hesitated for a few moments and then added, "Probably best to stay inconspicuous though, just in case. Well, are you ready?"

Charity nodded. Her mouth was dry, partly because of nervousness at the new experience and partly for another reason. She'd only recently come to terms with everything involving Snape and wasn't sure how new revelations in the Pensieve might affect her delicate emotional balance. At the same time, she knew that it was not possible for her to walk away from the opportunity to see Snape again, in any form. She took a deep breath and leaned forward.

It did indeed feel as if she was free falling amongst a blur of swirling colors, but she eventually came to a soft landing, as promised. The blurred colors came into focus, and Charity saw that they were back at the Yule Ball, three and half years earlier. She spent a long while taking in the scene. All the students looked so young and lighthearted. Those had certainly been happier times; nobody knew then that they were on the cusp of a new war. Charity would have gladly stayed in that scene forever. The present-tense Harry directed her attention to the long banquet table filled with desserts. She caught sight of Snape at the table and inhaled loudly. She looked quickly around before remembering that nobody from the memory could see or hear her. The Charity of almost four years ago stood by Snape, talking to him.

"…I'm going to make _you_ like _me,_" she said and walked away.

Today's Charity remained standing by Snape who stared after her past self as she walked further away. As he stared, he murmured quietly under his breath, "Heaven help me - I think I already do."

Charity barely had time to take this in before the room became blurred with swirls of bright colors that faded into more subdued tones. The scene cleared to reveal Dumbledore's office. Charity knew they had jumped ahead at least a year and a half, because she could see that beneath Dumbledore's sleeve, his hand was black and shriveled. Dumbledore and Snape stood by the window talking.

"I see that you've became better acquainted with Professor Burbage while I was away," Dumbledore said conversationally.

Snape looked carefully at Dumbledore as he answered, "Rather difficult not to with her flitting about all the time."

Dumbledore chuckled and said, "Yes, well, she does seem to 'flit' around you more so than she does around any of our other teachers."

Snape's face turned stony with concentration and he avoided eye contact with the headmaster.

Dumbledore said, "Occlumency won't do you any good here Severus. As the Muggles say, body language speaks quite loudly. Not to mention, she's not nearly as adept as are you at blocking others from reading her thoughts. You should be congratulated, Severus, for capturing the attention of such a charming witch." Snape's face softened a bit, and Dumbledore continued, "I daresay, she may have captured your attention as well?"

"Perhaps," was Snape's only answer. He was now looking at Dumbledore questioningly through slightly narrowed eyes. He was clearly wondering how this could possibly be of so much interest to him.

"Yes, I thought something like this might be possible the first time I watched her glittering around the room at the Homes for Hags benefit. Opposites do often attract, you know," Dumbledore said lightly.

Snape did not respond. He merely watched Dumbledore intently, waiting for him to make his point.

"The only trouble is, Severus, we have other urgent and very serious matters before us now. I'm afraid we cannot risk any sort of distraction from our purpose."

Snape opened his mouth in protest, but Dumbledore quieted him with a raised hand and continued, "Oh, you've never let me down Severus. I know you never would if you could control it. Matters of the heart, however, cannot always be controlled, as you well know. Although love is often the impetus behind great acts of courage, we cannot always say how we will react when love is threatened, as it most definitely will be in our particular case."

Snape cast his eyes down to the floor with an expression that looked like resignation. His shoulders slumped and his jaw clenched.

"It's not forever Severus," Dumbledore said gently. "Just for a while. Don't you see, with the world under the imminent threat of Voldemort, true love is never going to thrive. It will only be in defeating Voldemort that any of us will ever be able to love freely and openly. Severus, you are our best chance of defeating Voldemort. You need to stay focused and strong for a while longer so that the rest of your life can be spent however and with whomever you choose."

Dumbledore paused to let Snape absorb what he'd just told him. Then he continued, "I can see that you gain a certain strength from her. Keep that, use that. But I am afraid that I must ask you to distance yourself from her or else risk making clouded decisions at the most crucial times."

When Snape looked up, his face was stone, but Charity could see a fresh sadness deep in his black eyes. A swirl of gray tones raced for a few brief seconds before settling to reveal past-tense Charity and Snape in a hallway off the Entrance Hall. She finished telling Snape off about 'silliness' and turned into the torch that had lit her cape on fire. Snape took a step towards her but stopped himself once Charity had the flames safely quenched. As her past self stumbled down the hall, Snape watched her with pain tensing every muscle on his face.

The present-tense Charity stood facing Snape and whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?" The swirling tones returned, becoming lighter and lasting longer.

The scene before them mutated into Chaity's Hogwarts apartment. Charity saw herself asleep in front of a smoking cauldron on her kitchen counter. Snape gently lifted her and carried her to her bed. For the first time Charity became keenly aware of Harry's presence and turned to give him an embarrassed look at being caught in such an intimate situation with another professor. Harry answered her with a quick shake of his head that told her not to worry about it.

Snape gently laid her on her bed and sat for a couple minutes staring at her. Then he leaned down and softly pressed his lips to her forehead. He said shakily, "You'll never know…" before his voice appeared to give out completely. Then he stood, swiftly flipped on his cloak, and left.

The only color visible as they moved quickly on to the next memory was flashing green. In the middle of a large table, Charity saw a lifeless, pink lump, which she knew to be herself. Voldemort was at the end of the table saying, "Dinner, Nagini."1 Even in a memory, the strangely high-pitched voice sent chills careening through Charity while the huge snake slithered dangerously closer to her body.

Snape, one of the many observers around the table, suddenly stood up, nearly knocking over his chair. "My Lord!" he said forcefully. The snake halted its approach, and Snape forced his voice into calmer tones as he said, "As repulsive as I've always found her teachings, this is – was - a professor at Hogwarts, after all. Being the fine institution that began your glorious rise to supremacy, do you not wish a more dignified burial for one of its professors?"

Voldemort paused and called Nagini back. "Very well, Severus. I can concede to your sentiments, but _only_ because of the valuable information you have given me tonight. Now remove it at once. I can no longer stand the sight!"

Snape pulled Charity's body off the table. As he carried her out of the room, she heard Voldemort's high-pitched voice say, "Sorry, Nagini, but have a look around, anyone else look tasty to you?" His horrible laugh filled the room.

Snape took Charity to the small dark room where she had eventually regained consciousness. In the memory, she was still lying limp and Snape was bent over her, shaking and sobbing. Present-tense Charity stood in some shock as she watched Snape's black form convulsing up and down while he cried and tried to speak. She could only make out a few words here and there, "...please…please…don't die…not again…"

Charity felt Harry's presence sharply and hoped he wouldn't think less of Snape for this rare loss of control. A quick glance at Harry, who stood with his eyes downcast, told her that he wasn't judging him. She turned back to Snape and wished that he'd let her see even a tiny bit of this emotion after she'd woken.

The swirl of colors lasted a bit longer, telling Charity that they were jumping several months ahead this time. They were back in Dumbledore's office. It looked very much as it had outside the Pensieve except, of course, the portraits were uncovered. In the memory, the occupants of the portraits slept in their frames. Rhythmic breathing, punctuated by an occasional soft snort, filled the room. Snape was alone, sitting at the great desk writing on a piece of parchment.

"You're going to want to read that," Harry told Charity. "_Now,_" he added with some urgency when she hesitated.

As Charity approached Snape, she looked up to see Albus Dumbledore gently sleeping in the portrait behind the desk. She warmed at the sight of him; it was comforting to know that some semblance of Dumbledore would always be at Hogwarts. She continued behind Snape and peered over his shoulder to read the letter. She let out a small exclamation when she saw the familiar tarnished silver picture frame lying a few inches from the parchment. She read as he wrote:

_C-_

_I told you that it was the weaker part of me that saved you _

_from the Dark Lord. That may be true, but it was also the best _

_part of me – the only part that I want to keep when this is over._

_I cannot tell you what it meant to me, how it strengthened my _

_resolve, when you did not recoil upon first seeing my Dark Mark. _

_Instead, you drew closer. To then push you away – it was as _

_difficult to do as anything that has been asked of me. Yet that _

_night, when I needed you most of all, you did not turn me away._

_You need to know that there was - is another. For many years _

_now my heart has belonged to the past. A past I'm not sure I can _

_ever let go of. I can only tell you that when I look into her eyes I _

_see my past; when I look into yours I see my future. You say that _

_I am a good man. I think that you only see what you want to see, _

_but I would venture that you,_

Here Snape hesitated then put the quill back to the parchment

_...my love, are good enough for the _

_both of us. I've never before desired something so simple ~~~~_

The ink of his quill trailed off onto the paper, and Snape sat back and sighed, "I'm a fool."

The letter burst into flames and disintegrated. Charity chirped in surprise and jumped at the ashes of the letter, trying to save it, but the charred remains merely drifted through her hands. Snape pushed himself up from his chair and walked through Charity and around the desk. He went over to the window and leaned heavily against it. Charity stayed by the desk to watch him, still lamenting the loss of the letter.

Snape pointed his wand out the open window into the clear night and uttered, "Expecto Patronum."

The glowing doe came galloping out of his wand, sending tiny pin pricks of jealousy through Charity's heart. In the sparkling glow that trailed behind the doe, another figure suddenly emerged. Was she seeing it right? Charity ran straight to the window, not bothering to go around the large desk but right through it, and saw the figure clearly – it was a small, silvery bird, fluttering happily about and eventually disappearing into the distance in a different direction from the doe. Charity stood, taking great gulps of air as she tried to catch her breath. She was amazed by what she'd just seen. A double Patronus! What would Lockhart have to say about this?

Charity turned with wide eyes to Snape and saw that he remained at the window, staring off in the direction into which the bird had disappeared. She detected the tiniest evidence of a smile on his lips and a happy glint in his eye. Charity's heart swelled. She fought back tears, because she wanted to take in Snape's every detail before she had to leave him.

She reluctantly emerged from the Pensieve, aching to stay and watch memories that stretched into Snape's future, a future with her. But his memories ended forever soon after that last.

Severus _did_ love her, and it appeared he'd started long before she was ever aware of it. As welcome as these memories had been, they made clear the full enormity of Charity's loss, and she felt every bit of it. Hot, silent tears ran down her face. The tears grew into sobs as she ached for Severus to be here, really here, with her. There was no point in wondering what to do for the pain, because there was nothing she could do; she had only to feel it. She clutched the edges of the spindly table and stared into the Pensieve, her breath coming out in rapid, burning bursts. She wanted to sink into despair, but something held her up and kept her from it. She stood and stared into nothingness for she didn't know how long.

Charity finally regained some composure and remembered Harry. She raised her eyes and saw him standing against a wall, looking extremely uncomfortable. She was sure that he must be questioning his judgment in bringing her into the Pensieve, so she held a hand out to him.

When he walked over and took it, she said in a teary voice, "Thank you." She wiped her eyes with her free hand and continued, "I will always treasure these memories…I would have gone my whole life not knowing…" Sobs threatened to consume her again, so she left it at that, and she and Harry remained in silence, save for Charity's involuntary intakes of breath as her body tried to stop crying.

After a while, Charity took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then she said, "Please don't think I am ungrateful, but Severus was a very private man, and I'm not sure..."

Harry cut her off, saying, "Look - I _know_ that he wanted you to see that." His tone made her understand this as a fact, not just Harry's conjecture, and she was again grateful.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, examining him. She was taking him into account more than she had ever done before. "You really are a remarkable young man," she said with the air of having just made a discovery.

Harry gave her a gentle smile in return. She spent a few more minutes in thought, then asked, "Have you had done with his memories now? Because if you have, I think…I think he would want us to release them. Not to others, but I mean to…to pour them out. I just don't think Severus would want his private thoughts and memories sitting in a jar for anyone who happens to stumble upon them to see. Do you know what I mean?"

Harry glanced toward the silent portrait and nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said. "I think you're right."

The two of them walked over to the window, and Charity opened it so Harry could tip the contents of the Pensieve out. The silvery substance floated away and dissipated into the atmosphere. As they watched the memories disappear, Charity would swear to this day that she saw a tiny speck of a bird flitter into the distance before it too dissolved. It was almost as if the happiness of the bird had drifted into Charity and began to replace her earlier desperation. She felt something like hope growing inside her as she continued looking out the window toward where the memories had gone. They weren't actually gone at all, because she wasn't likely to ever forget even the slightest detail.

As Harry held the office door open for her on their way out, Charity turned to him and asked, "Did you see the bit about the letter?"

Harry gave an uncomfortable, "Er, yeah."

"Do you think…um, do you think when he said he wanted something 'simple' – do you think he meant me, like _I_ am simple, as in not very bright, or…or what do you think he meant?"

Harry's mouth grew into a relieved grin as he shook his head and answered, "I honestly couldn't say."

"Ah well," Charity said, shaking it off. There would be plenty of time examine that later. For now she was going to fixate on '_my love_' for a good long time.

THE END

**Footnotes:**

(1) Quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling, pg. 12

**Author's Note:**

THANK YOU for reading this story through to the end. Thanks especially to those of you who put Professor Burbage and the Potions Master on your favorites and alerts list and, of course, to all my faithful reviewers. You have made sharing this story horribly fun and I can't wait to hear what you think of this final chapter.

If you want some more Charity...I've started posting the sequel to this story. It's titled "Charity Burbage and the New Prince." I'd love to see you there!


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